Cat Scratch Fever
by Mikki13
Summary: When Cameron returns to the hospital after a two year absence, House is forced to face some long hidden truths.
1. Prologue

Simply the prologue in a multi-chapter piece. May be a bit short, but I promise to expand in subsequent chapters.

DISCLAIMER: I own them all. Oh, wait. That was my delusion talking . . .

* * *

Cuddy walked briskly down the hall, manila folder clutched tightly in her right hand, dark curls bobbing in time with her steps. "House!" she demanded, catching up to her failed escapee. The man was surprisingly fast hobbling on that cane of his. She had been pursuing him for the last minute.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, the doctor-in-question turned his head just enough to see his pursuer. "Sorry, House is not home right now. Please leave your name and number after the beep, and he'll get back to you as soon as he possibly can." With that, he hobbled a couple more strides down the hallway.

"Can it," Cuddy snapped, easily overtaking the stubborn doctor this time. "We have a new patient."

House's shoulders slumped. "Beeeep," he intoned, looking pointedly at Cuddy.

Cuddy just as pointedly ignored him, instead shoving the manila folder closer to his tall, sinewy frame. "Eighteen-month old boy presents with severe seizures, high grade fever and swollen lymph nodes."

House rolled his eyes and inhaled a sigh. Where were the trained monkeys when you needed them? " . . .Wait, I'm getting a thought. Starts with an "F." Flu? Fungus? No, wait! Febrile seizures!" He finished triumphantly, shooting the hospital dean a smirk. "Give him some Tylenol and anticonvulsion meds, then send him on his way. He'll be back to watching Sesame Street in no time." Again, he attempted to take a few strides down the hallway, but again he was stopped by his boss's meddling voice.

"Okay, Sherlock," Cuddy shot at him. "Two new symptoms emerged after he arrived. Not only did his fever fail to subside after he was placed in a tub full of ice and given the wonder drug that you suggest, this morning he developed pustules all over the upper left side of his body."

"Oh, you," House shot back, waggling his finger at his superior. "Trying to trick me through the introduction of new symptoms." Taking a couple more steps down the hallway, Cuddy hot on his pursuit, he continued, "Which coincidentally can be explained with one powerful diagnosis. Increasingly persistent fever with even more annoying fever blisters. What was that "F" word again?"

"Ass?" Cuddy drawled, shooting the doctor a glare of annoyance.

"No, that starts with an "A," House returned, continuing his limping gait down the hall.

"House . . ." Cuddy sighed. She was becoming increasingly more frustrated by the second. "If it was simply a febrile seizure, his fever would have subsided at least a few degrees after the treatment we've given him. And these aren't fever blisters," she continued. "They're . . . different."

"Ah, now I know why you get the big bucks," House replied. "Your amazing deductive powers as a diagnostician."

"No, I believe that would be your department," Cuddy shot back. "Come on, House. "It's a good case." She handed him the folder. "And one that I need you to take."

"You know, I'd love to take it, but gosh darn, I have such a full case load already that I just don't think I can find the time." With this, he attempted to hand the folder back to his intrusive boss.

"What case load?" Cuddy scoffed. "You haven't had a case for two days!"

"Yes, and the extra time is doing me ever so much good," House retorted, his characteristic smirk playing across his lips. "Please don't stop me now."

Cuddy sighed in frustration. This was getting her nowhere. It was time to bring out the big guns. "You're taking the case, House," she commanded, her tone smooth as silk. "The patient's mother has specifically asked for you."

"And I always do exactly what the patient asks," House quipped, nodding his head in a play of witticism. "No wonder you decided to come to me."

Cuddy's next move caused House to raise his brows. Rather than back down, as he'd hoped; or become increasingly frustrated, as he'd expected, her face broke into a smile. Either the brain damage had finally caught up to her, or she had a trick up her sleeve. "Aren't you going to ask me who the patient's mother is?"

Ah, so it was to be the latter. House paused, not wanting to get caught in this trap. "I assume it isn't Godzilla?" Cuddy shook her head, her smile still firmly in place. And now her brows were beginning to arch. Ohh, whatever this was, it was going to be good. "Okay, I'll bite," he said. "Who is the patient's mother?"

Suddenly, the smile on Cuddy's face grew so wide that she began to bear an uncanny resemblance to the cat who ate the canary. "Cameron," she replied simply, crossing her arms over her chest.

If Cuddy had expected this latest piece of news to rattle her employee into action, she would have been sorely disappointed. Rather than turning on his heel and heading for his conference room, House stood rooted to the spot, an unreadable expression crossing his heavily whiskered face. Finally, after what seemed several moments, he spoke. "Doesn't she live in Massachusetts or something?"

"Connecticut," Cuddy replied. "She was out here for a visit when her son became ill."

House considered this latest piece of information. "Comes back after two years, and ends up here. Aren't the fates miraculous?"

Cuddy shrugged. "I'm sure it's not exactly what she was hoping for," she acknowledged. "So? Will you take the case?"

House paused, then gave a quick, short nod. "I'll take it," he confirmed. With that, he turned on his heel and headed for his conference room, slapping the manila folder against his leg as he went.


	2. My Eyes

IMPORTANT NOTE: I was so nervous about posting this last night that I completely forgot to thank two very important people. Melinda Joy and Kelly -- thank you for reading these chapters first and giving me the courage to post them. Also, thank you to my reviewers, KayleighBough and Evangelina Lilly. You two rock.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, but they sure are fun to play with.

_House leaned back on the bench as his fingers frantically hit various keys on his piano, the music to Beethoven's 'Tempest' the result. His jaw muscles working in time to the agitated frenzy of his hands, he almost didn't notice when someone began knocking on his door. After a few moments of steady rapping, however, the knocking registered and House's fingers stopped striking the keys just as the song reached its crescendo. Pivoting his head in the direction of the door, he considered for a moment before finally pushing himself off the bench and grabbing his cane._

_Upon opening the door, House found a fidgety Wilson fixing him with nervous eyes. House couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for his friend._

_"You gonna stand there all day, or are you going to actually come in?" House asked, turning his back and heading for his couch._

_"Oh, good, so you're talking to me again," Wilson said, stepping inside. When House's response was to quirk a brow, he continued, "Did you know that Cameron's leaving?"_

_An inexplicable look wafted across the doctor's face. "She mentioned something," he replied._

_Wilson stared. "And you're just going to let her go?"_

_"Well, I considered confiscating her car keys, but something about it just seemed so juvenile."_

_Wilson shook his head in disbelief. "You're making jokes," he stated._

_"I knew there was a reason I've missed you so much," House replied, the corner of his lip curling into a smirk. "You're so damn good at getting to the point of a matter."_

_Wilson ignored the quip. "I can't believe you're not going to do anything to stop this."_

MDMDMD

Though he had every intention of making a beeline for his conference room and the security of his blank whiteboard, House found himself making a detour toward the patients' rooms instead. Limping through the seventh floor hallway, he peered in doors along the way, finally stopping when he came to one room in particular. Laying in a hospital-issued crib was a young boy, no more than two-years old, sleeping restlessly as several monitors recorded his bodily functions. House knitted his brow as he noticed the IV poking into the small boy's hand, delivering a plethora of medications and liquids, despite the fact that the hospital still had no idea what was causing his symptoms.

Suddenly, a movement at the side of the room caught the doctor's attention. His breath hitched in his throat as he shifted his eyes to a woman sitting in an uncomfortable straight-backed chair, her chestnut waves cascading around her face as she held her head in her hands. He couldn't help but notice how fragile she looked sitting there, her small frame shaking slightly in time with her breaths.

He didn't know how long he stood there, taking in the scene in front of him. But when the woman finally began to look up, he snapped back to attention and quickly began to head back down the hallway. He was stopped in his tracks, however, when a strong yet raspy voice called his name.

Though he willed himself to keep on moving, for some reason that voice had more power over his body than his own motives. "House!" It came again, this time more hesitant and much closer. Still, he didn't turn around until a small, decidedly feminine hand clasped his arm. Only then did he allow himself to turn and take in the woman standing before him.

Her eyes were puffy from exhaustion and tears, and her hair was a jungle of chocolate brown curls. Aside from that, however, the two years had been good to her. Still as beautiful as ever, she seemed to have matured from womanly child into independent woman. "Cameron," he replied, attempting a smile which really just added to the impenetrability of his expression. The next words came out quicker than he had time to pull them back, and he cursed himself afterwards. "You look like hell."

The woman before him closed her eyes and issued a soft, shaky laugh. "Thanks," she said, opening her eyes once again and studying him. "So do you."

House smirked. "Well, we can't all pull off the tragic yet beautiful look."

Cameron returned his smirk, then looked back worriedly toward the room from which she had come. House raised his brows and said, "I understand that your son's my new patient."

At this, Cameron's own expression became somewhat impenetrable and she gave a quick, short nod. "Since last night," she confirmed, her words now just as indiscernible as her expression.

"Any idea what's wrong?" he asked, opening the chart and flipping through it.

"None," Cameron replied, her frustration more than obvious. "He had a fever and swollen lymph nodes, so I took him to see a pediatrician. He was put on antibiotics, but the lymph nodes are still swollen and the fever is stronger than ever. Even after putting him in a tub of ice and giving him Tylenol. The only thing I can think of is that he's got some kind of infection, but I have no idea what it could be. I'm so careful with him, and he hasn't shown any allergic reactions. He's a healthy baby, House. He's had all his shots, he's well taken care of, he's never really even been sick. He's--"

"The picture of health, I get it," House said, finally interrupting the irate mother. Tears of frustration, anger and sadness had begun to form in her eyes, and he couldn't stand the sight.

"No, you don't get it," Cameron snapped. "I'm a doctor, damn it. I should be able to do something, I should be able to figure out what's wrong. But the only thing I've been able to do is sit by and watch my son suffer."

These last words were broken, and the tears finally began to stream down Cameron's face. Placing her hands over her eyes, she leaned into the nearest wall and let the sobs wash over her.

House cringed at the sight. He had never been able to stand seeing Cameron cry, and after all these years apart . . . As if on its own accord, his body moved forward and his arms reached out to hold the young woman as she sobbed uncontrollably. It was a clumsy sight, the shell shocked doctor cradling the frustrated and grieving mother. Nonetheless, the moment he had her in his arms, the sensations began to wash over him. The accelerated heart rate, the heightened sense of smell as he took in her unique scent of jasmine and soap, the feel of her soft skin underneath his calloused hands. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it came to a crashing end. Because suddenly a shrill cry disturbed the silence that had been their embrace, and Cameron was pushing away from him and running into the room as if her life depended on it.

"Jake!" she cried, rushing to her small son's side as he thrashed about and held onto his head, screaming as if possessed, tears pouring out of his scared, blue eyes. "Noo! Mama! Noooo!" he wailed, and House could tell that he was trying to get away from something. "I think he's hallucinating!" Cameron exclaimed, holding on to her son and fixing fearful eyes on House.

House had cocked his head to the side and appeared to be studying the small child. Had she not been so frightened over her son's sudden decline, Cameron might have noticed that a muddled expression had added itself to the already chaotic mix playing across the doctor's face. As it was, she was too preoccupied cradling her thrashing baby. A minute later, House had schooled his expression and was unlocking a supply cabinet and finding a suitable narcotic for an 18-month old. Quickly, he stepped forward and administered a dose through the child's IV line. Jake quickly fell asleep.

House stepped back and took a deep breath. "How long has he had his fever?" he demanded.

"About a week," Cameron answered, still holding on to her tiny son. "Why?"

Ignoring the question, House asked another of his own. "Has he had much of an appetite? Been tired lately? Seemed stiff and uncomfortable? Had trouble looking at bright lights?"

"Of course," Cameron responded, shaking her head. "He's been sick."

"Well, I have some good news and some bad news," he informed her. "I don't think he has cancer." Cameron's eyes went wide at the very mention of this thought. Apparently, doctor or no she hadn't led herself to believe that her son's illness could be that serious. "He does, however, have encephalitis and most likely an infection. I'm going to give him some antivirals for the encephalitis and some anticonvulsants for the seizures. Meanwhile, I'll send Chase or Foreman in to perform some routine tests so that we can find out the underlying cause. You're sure you can't think of anything that might have caused it?"

"No," Cameron insisted, her faced creased with lines of vexation. "If I'd had any idea, it wouldn't have gotten this far."

House nodded, then hesitated, seeming to take in the woman before him and her small son. Finally, he flashed Cameron a brief, tight smile and said, "It was . . . good to see you," and an incomprehensible cast clouded his deep blue eyes. Then, taking one last inscrutable look at the now-unconscious child, he quickly left the room, intent on performing his own self-medicating ritual.

Cameron stared after him, a feeling of unease settling in the pit of her stomach.

MDMDMDMD

The moment House had returned to his office, he had sent his two-member team off to perform the tests he'd promised Cameron. Of course, it had taken them a full ten minutes and several well-placed insults to leave the room after they'd discovered who the patient's mother was. _So that's why you've got your knickers in a twist_, Chase had replied, before being told by an impatient House that he could play with the other boys' knickers all he wanted, but he'd better leave his alone. Foreman, on the other hand, had been much easier to get rid of. The last two years had done much to strengthen the neurologist's dislike for House. Not only had the latter become more ornery than he had ever been known to be, he had single-handedly chased out the last three people assigned to take Cameron's place, not to mention Cameron herself. Foreman had no desire to be anywhere near House-the-loose-cannon, and every reason to help an old friend's son.

After they had left, House had sat in his chair and brooded for hours. By the time word got to James Wilson, he was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed the door to his office open. But open it did, and in entered Wilson, his mouth set in a grim line. From what Cuddy had told the oncologist, he figured his best friend would be a ticking time bomb by now and it was his job to ensure the fuse didn't get lit. Sure enough, the time bomb was swatting the floor with a red rubber ball, the big "keep out" sign clearly in place on his furrowed forehead.

"I hear you have a new patient," Wilson stated, stepping up to House's desk.

"You know, the nice inventors came up with knocking for a reason, Jimmy," House predictably responded. And was it Wilson's imagination, or was that ball being bounced just a bit harder? "You should try it sometime."

"I'll keep that in mind," Wilson replied. "How are you holding up?"

"Much better than my stash of scotch," House motioned to the empty bottle lying face-down in the trash. "Feel like going out and getting me some more?"

"You're drunk!" Wilson exclaimed , dumbfounded.

"Is today state the obvious day?" House questioned. "'Cause if it is, then you're annoying."

"House!" Wilson chastised. "You have a patient. A patient who happens to be the son of someone I happen to know you care about very much. How can you drink when you're supposed to be taking care of him?"

"Oh, come on, Jimmy!" House replied nonchalantly. "Blacky and the Pretty Boy are doing just fine on their own."

"So you're just going to sit here and drink while Foreman and Chase take the case?" It was more a statement than a question.

House cocked his head to the side, pretending to consider. "Yup," he said after a moment. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do. Except for one minor problem." He pointed to the trash. "I seem to have run out of my supply." With that, he fixed pleading eyes on his best friend. "Come on, Jimmy! Be a pal and go get me some more."

Wilson ignored the request. "That's great, House," he said, throwing his hands up in disgust. "Go ahead and drink. I'm sure Foreman and Chase will do just fine on their own." With that, he turned and quickly headed for the door. If House wasn't going to supervise the other two doctors, he sure as hell was.

"He has my eyes," House muttered just before Wilson reached the door.

"What?" Wilson asked confusedly, something in his best friend's voice stopping him from leaving.

"Cameron's son," House replied, staring at the floor. He had finally stopped bouncing the ball. "He has my eyes. Though I guess they could be Chase's. But seeing as how she wasn't sleeping with Chase . . ."

"And she was sleeping with you?" James Wilson asked, flabbergasted. "How did this get by me?"

House shrugged. "Didn't want to damage any reputations. You know how much I care about what other people think."

"So you just . . . kept it to yourself?" Wilson queried, his expression turning suspicious. "That's not possible. You couldn't even keep your affair with Stacy a secret."

House quirked one eyebrow at his friend, then turned his attention back to the floor in front of his feet. Once again, the rubber ball began beating a monosyllabic rhythm against the carpet.

Wilson just stared, House's confession ricocheting in his head with amazing force. Part of him was having trouble believing this was possible, but a larger part knew that House wouldn't say it if it weren't true. "How old is Cameron's son again?"

"18 months," House answered.

Wilson quickly did the math. And suddenly the ricocheting stopped, and James Wilson knew. Two years ago, just before Cameron had left, House had been suspended after being found in his office, unconscious from morphine overdose. As his best friend, Wilson had requested a spot on the review board. If the board tried to fire House, he could try to stop it. But the board hadn't tried to fire House. Despite everything House had done during his tenure at PPTH, they had recognized the need to keep him on staff. Instead, the board had placed him on suspension. And ordered mandatory physical therapy. The suspension, House might have been able to handle. The therapy was another story. Wilson issued an involuntary shudder, remembering the look on his friend's face when he had discovered the board's decision. '_You'll keep me from being fired, but you'll allow them to force me into THAT?' _

Surprisingly enough, House had gone through with the therapy. It hadn't been much help, as the damage had already settled in by that point. It had, however, led House to refuse any contact with Wilson for the entire two month suspension. Cameron must have been more persistent. Clearly, Cameron had gotten through. _I wonder what happened to make her run away? _ Wilson pondered, before realizing that his friend was still staring at the floor, his face a jigsaw of hurt and impenetrability.

"So what are you going to do about it?" Wilson queried, his tone a bit softer than it had been a few moments before.

Again, House shrugged, his eyes still not leaving the sanctity of the floor. "Cure him," he said simply, taking his beloved bottle of vicodin from his pocket and knocking back two pills.

"And then?" Wilson prodded.

House hesitated, the question playing itself in his head. Finally, he looked up at Wilson, the unreadable expression still haunting his deep blue eyes. "I don't know." And the ball went back to beating a steady rhythm on the floor in front of his feet.


	3. Did You Order Pizza?

**IMPORTANT NOTE: I suggest rereading Chapter 1 as I've added some back story since the first publication (8/13/06).**

DEDICATION: Something weird has begun to happen to me. Over the last couple of days, this story has begun to haunt me to the point where I've been up until 4 am, writing things down that spontaneously pop into my mind. Which leads me to my dedication. I would like to thank my fiance, who not only tricked me into watching House in the first place, but has stayed up with me during my crazy writing spurts, giving me constructive criticism and every-once-in-awhile a much needed break. I would also like to add a new name to my list of betas. Thank you, Laura, for taking the time to read this chapter even though I know you've been so very busy at work. Finally, thank you to my reviewers. Your reviews are my own personal high. It should also be noted that I write a lot faster when I have reviews to spur me into action . . .

DISCLAIMER: Definitely not mine. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder if they own me . . .

"_And you thought you could hide," Gregory House intoned as he poured himself a glass of scotch, the blessed liquid having taken up the better part of half an hour to find. For some reason, he had found it in last week's laundry pile. Probably hidden it from Wilson, and forgotten about it. "But that's okay," he told it gently, giving it a loving look as he transported it from the glass to his lips, "I've found you now and I'm never letting you go again." With that, he poured the gorgeous liquid down his throat, relishing the burn as it began flowing through his digestive system. Five more glasses like that and he'd be in liquor heaven. He was just about to pour himself another when some intrusive person had the nerve to knock on his front door. His shoulders slumping, he gave the door a disapproving look but pulled himself out of his chair anyway. It better not be Wilson . . ._

_Nope, not Wilson. When House opened his door and saw who was standing on his stoop, he almost closed the door again. Luckily, his visitor was quicker and stopped the door with her foot. "We need to talk," Allison Cameron said, not quite entering her boss's home yet standing at the threshold and blocking him from shutting the door. Her face was etched with one of her rather annoying serious expressions and her arms were crossed firmly over her chest._

"_Oh, would you unclench?" The disappointed and soon-to-be-drunk doctor commanded irritably, nowhere close to being in the mood to deal with his employee in one of her infamous clenching sessions. "We're not at work, we have the night off -- hell, I have the next _two months _off. And," he continued, grabbing his liquor bottle and pouring himself that second glass, "I have a perfectly good bottle of liquor sitting right here." With that, he downed the shot and smiled. "Mmm, yummy!"_

_Cameron rolled her eyes in disgust. "Can't you stop drugging yourself for even a minute, House?"_

_House looked from his disgruntled employee to his scotch bottle and back again. "Apparently not . . ." he drawled, pouring himself another glass and downing it in one swift gulp. This one hit a bit harder than the other two, and he sighed happily at the pleasant sensation of lightheadness that came with it. "You want some?" he offered, holding the bottle out for her to take._

"_No," she said, closing the door and stepping forward to take the bottle from him anyway, but putting it on top of his piano._

"_Thief," he mumbled, making a grab for his bottle but being stopped in his tracks by the lithe young woman blocking his path. "Oh, come on, mommy! Can't I have just a little bit more?"_

"_House, this is serious," Cameron snapped, glowering at the impetuous man. "Do you even realize what happened today? You were suspended from work!"_

"_Wow! That must be why Cuddy put on that cute little nun outfit and slapped my hand with the ruler. Oh, wait . . . That never happened, did it? And I was so hoping . . ." With that, he made another grab for his scotch, but again Cameron did an excellent job of blocking his path. _

"_You ever think of becoming a professional linebacker?" he asked, pointing at her with his brow raised. "Because I think I see some serious potential. You might want to sign with the New York Giants. Or maybe even the Princeton Tigers. I'm sure they'd figure out a position for you . . ."_

"_House, would you cut the crap for just a minute?" Cameron complained, throwing her hands up in annoyance. "You were suspended from work," she repeated. "You're refusing to talk to anybody. Even Wilson says he can't get through."_

_"Again with the excellent recaps," House growled. "I may be drunk, but I'm not stupid. And if you don't mind, I was enjoying my scotch." With that, he finally pushed past her and grabbed his bottle. Not bothering to pour the contents into a shot glass, he twisted off the cap and took a long swig._

_"Great, House!" Cameron snapped, watching in disgust as he continued to drink from the bottle. "Go ahead and drug yourself. That'll make everything better."_

_House narrowed his eyes. "Why do you care?" he challenged her. "You think you can just come over here and start shouting, and we'll have a hug fest? That I'll admit that I've screwed up? 'Oh, mommy, please don't take away my Tonka trucks!' Go home, Cameron. You must have a hundred better things to do right now." _

_"Why do I care?" she repeated, her eyes flashing . . ._

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Suddenly, House was jarred from his thought-invoked stupor and forced back into reality. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it from its daze, he reached down to grab the beeping apparatus situated in his pocket. He hesitated when he saw what it said, but soon grabbed his cane and pulled himself out of his chair. Before he could leave the office, however, Foreman and Chase entered, both wearing identical expressions of concern. "There's been a complication," Foreman told him.

"Noooo!" House drawled, his annoyance evident as he handled the pager. "That must be why the annoying beeping machine interrupted my afternoon nap." At this, the other two men exchanged exacerbated looks. "What's the complication?"

"He can't see." Foreman replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Can't see as in 'can't see because his eyes are closed,' or can't see as in he's gone blind?"

"The latter," Foreman said. "But we can't find anything wrong with him. All of his tests are coming back negative."

"Great! We'll give mommy a list of schools for the disabled and send him on home." He fixed his team with steely blue eyes. "Have you two found anything helpful in the last," he checked his watch, "six hours?"

"His white blood cell count is elevated," Chase offered.

"Terrific!" House returned. "So now we have a blind 1-year old with encephalitis and an elevated white blood cell count, but no underlying cause. Cameron must be thrilled." When the other two continued to look as if they had no idea what else to do, House glared at them and continued. "What else do we know about him?"

"We know that he's from Connecticut," Foreman furnished, his brow creased in thought. "And that he's 18-months old."

"We know that he has encephalitis," Chase continued, ticking the symptom off on his finger. "And that he's had flu-like symptoms for the past week."

"Yeah, yeah," House urged. "Sick baby, encephalitis. I want to know what we know about _him_."

"Well, we know he's Cameron's son," Foreman said, checking the chart. "But she hasn't put anything here about the father . . ." He looked up. "Maybe he got this from him?"

House narrowed his eyes at the dark doctor, brushing his words away with a wave of his hand. "He's two, meaning that it's most likely an infection. Children don't get infections from their parents."

Foreman blinked in surprise. "Yes, they do," he said. "That kid we worked on just last month --"

House cut him off. "Anything else we know?" he wheedled. "Family pets? Favorite foods? Annoying quirks and mannerisms?" When Foreman and Chase returned his questions with blank expressions, he sighed in exasperation. "Did anyone take a patient history?"

"I'm sorry," Foreman answered sheepishly. "I was so busy with the tests that --"

At the same time, a jovial Chase chimed in with, "I figured that Cameron would --"

"We're not working with Cameron the doctor," House cut them both off. "We're working with Cameron the mother. She hasn't slept in two days, and her baby is dying. I think it's safe to say a medical history would be a good idea."

"I'll get it," Chase volunteered. Before House could voice an opinion, he had walked out of the room and stepped out of sight.

House turned his attention to the neurologist, raising his brows. "Feel like a game of breaking and entering?"

Foreman's expression turned to one of incredulity. "She lives in Connecticut!"

"Guess we'd better get going," House answered, his lips curling into a tough luck smirk.

Foreman laughed in disbelief, but a minute later shot House a dirty look and said, "We're taking my car." With that, he headed briskly out of his boss's office, leaving a begrudging doctor to follow after him.

MDMDMDMD

It had taken the two men exactly two hours and thirty-six minutes to drive from Princeton to Sherman, Connecticut, where their former colleague rented a two-bedroom condo. Night had fallen by the time they arrived, and House was grumbling from the passenger seat.

Ignoring his disaffected boss, Foreman climbed out of the car and headed for the front porch, digging the key out of his pocket along the way. Before they'd left the hospital, he'd insisted on stopping by and getting the key from Cameron, who seemed to have been expecting it.

"I don't see why we couldn't have just broken in," House griped, catching up to the younger doctor. "Maybe then we would have gotten here before the mosquitoes started nipping." He swatted a particularly large one with his hand, "Not me. It's him you want," he said, pointing at Foreman and shooting a glare in his general direction.

"Logistics," Foreman replied simply, ignoring the rest and unlocking the door. "If we're not worried about getting caught, it's a lot easier to figure out what's wrong."

"Killjoy," House mumbled.

Foreman rolled his eyes and headed for the kitchen, intent on checking Cameron's water supply. Meanwhile, House sauntered around the living room, checking out the various affects that Cameron had added to spruce up the room. He paused before the mantelpiece, studying a picture frame that graced the mahogany finish.

"It's weird to have her back," a disembodied voice carried in from the kitchen.

"Huh?" Was House's response as he picked the frame off the mantel. Inside lay a picture of a very pregnant Cameron, her hands placed upon her abdomen as a beatific smile graced her face. For some reason, the sight caused House's heart to beat just a little bit faster than was normal.

"I said 'it's weird to have her back'," Foreman replied, stepping into the living room. He arched an eyebrow when he saw House with the frame. "Nothing's wrong with the water supply," he reported. "Something wrong with the picture frame?"

"Nope," House replied, setting the frame back on the mantel. "I'll go check the bedroom." And he limped down the hallway in search of said room, leaving Foreman behind to glance at the frame and shake his head.

Many things had been said after Cameron had left, many questions asked. Both Chase and Foreman had been stupefied when she had accepted the position with Dr. Gonzales and left the diagnostic's department at PPTH. They'd never found out exactly what had happened, however, and eventually the matter had been dropped. But seeing her here now, with a child whose age exactly matched her point of departure . . . Foreman had begun to wonder if maybe it was the things left unsaid that had been the cause of her abrupt exit. Maybe something had happened that he and Chase had never hit upon.

He didn't have time to ponder long, however, as House soon entered the living room carrying a tiny pair of overalls, what looked like a t-shirt belonging to Cameron, and . . . Was that a bra?

"Strictly for research purposes," House assured, shooting him a wink when he noticed the look Foreman was giving him.

"Uh-huh," Foreman replied, rolling his eyes. Leave it to House to mess around when they were supposed to be saving somebody. "Did you find --" But that was as far as he got, because suddenly a knock sounded at the door.

"Did you order pizza?" House asked, shooting Foreman a quizzical expression.

Foreman's own expression was more borderline panic. "Maybe if we ignore them, they'll go away . . ." he said.

"Relax," House told him, crossing the room to the door. "We have a key."

"People generally don't care how the black guy gets in," Foreman returned, "Just that he's inside the house."

"Good thing I'm not black," House replied, and he opened the door. Standing on the stoop was a woman with a long blonde pony-tail and nervous brown eyes. Beside her stood a police officer.

"So much for logistics," House muttered out of the corner of his mouth before turning back to the couple on the steps. "Good evening, officer," he said in a pseudo-bright voice. "How can I help you?"

"Do you have permission to be here?" The officer asked seriously.

"If I said 'yes,' would you believe me?" House queried, the clothing dangling from his left hand.

The officer narrowed his eyes when he noticed the bra. Ignoring House's response, he sauntered into his next question. "And what exactly is your reason for being here?" He asked suspiciously.

House considered for a moment. "Actually, the black guy over there was going for the silverware ("_House!" Foreman hissed_), and I figured I'd have a go at the underwear." He leaned toward the officer and whispered conspiratorially, "I have a thing for women's clothing."

The officer did not look impressed. "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me," he said in an authoritative tone.

"Oh, would you relax?" House admonished, holding out the key and his medical ID. "I'm a doctor. The woman who lives here has a son in the hospital."

"So you thought you'd come here and rifle through her underwear drawer?" The officer asked, his voice still the picture of suspicion. Cleary, the evidence of key and ID hadn't been enough to deter him.

He had lost House's attention, however, as the doctor was now studying the young woman with a gaze so intent she lowered her own stare to the ground and crossed her arms over her chest in an apparent effort to fade into the background.

"I bet she does it all the time," he said, jabbing his thumb in the woman's direction. When the woman glanced up in him in surprise, he leaned toward her and said, "Come on, admit it. You like to try on other women's clothes. It's okay, I understand. Lots of girls are doing it."

"That's enough, sir," the officer commanded, the woman's features taking on an affronted expression. "If you two don't leave this premises immediately, I'm going to have to take you to the station."

"Great, House," Foreman grumbled, crossing to the door.

But House held up a hand and moved toward the young woman, his eyes narrowing as he inspected her clothes. "Are you a close personal friend of Dr. Cameron's?" he asked, peering closely at the woman's black slacks.

"Excuse me?" she said nervously, trying to maneuver herself away from the crazy man with the cane. The officer reached behind him, perhaps in an attempt to free his handcuffs.

"Oh, would you hold still?" House ordered impatiently. He moved closer and plucked something off her pants. "Are you a friend of Dr. Cameron's?"

"Yes," she said, clearly sorry she had gotten herself into this mess.

"Do you ever do any baby-sitting?" he continued, studying the something he had pulled off her slacks.

"Sure," she said, just as the officer pulled out the handcuffs ("_Would you put those away?" House chided fractiously_). "I watch Jake while Allie's at work."

"House, what is this about?" Foreman demanded.

House held his thumb and forefinger up to the light. "I think we've found the source of Cameron's son's infection."

Squinting, Foreman could just barely make out some sort of hair reflected in House's hand.

"Ever hear of Cat Scratch Fever?"


	4. We're Moving Back

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter took quite a lot of effort. One of the pivotal chapters of this story, it just didn't want to fall into place. That elusive puzzle piece just kept on hiding. Finally, after a lot of energy and caffeine, I think I've finally perfected it. I hope you all enjoy the finished product.

NOTE OF THANKS: Reviewers, I have no words to say how much I appreciate the time and energy you take to let me know what you think of this story. It's your reviews that spur me into action. I wish I could churn out chapters faster, but I have to say that the story has a mind of its own and they come to me when they're ready. Your reviews kick my creativity into action, however, and as such allow me to update much faster. Thank you for that!

_DISCLAIMER: Not mine, but they sure have fun keeping me up at night. And __The Velveteen Rabbit hopped in to see what all the commotion was._

MDMDMDMD_  
_

The thing about cat scratch fever is that it tends to pop up on you when you least expect it. A rare disease in its own right, it can be contracted through something as violent as a scratch or a bite, or something as loving as a rough warm lick. Generally spread by kittens, who happen to have the disease in their blood, older cats are perfectly capable of spreading it themselves. When a human being is infected with cat scratch fever, one of two things happen. The disease may have little to no effect . . . or it might have such a monumental effect that the immune system changes drastically. That individual is then left with a choice. Either fight the disease with antibiotics, or do nothing and allow the disease to run its course.

MDMDMDMD

House stood staring out over Princeton, his arms positioned on the railing of the roof so that he had no need for his cane, but could lean out over the scene. His mind was a jumble of thoughts, each more potent than the next. So many things had happened over the course of the last 36 hours, so many truths had reared up to bite him in the balls. Cameron . . . her son . . . the memories that had come flooding back at him as though they were snakes rising from a barrel. Last night, after returning to PPTH and starting the kid ('_Jake,' thought House_) on something designed specifically to fight cat scratch fever, he had taken off on his motorcycle for what had turned into a 2-hour drive to the coast. Even that hadn't stopped the thoughts from coming, however, and now that he was back at the hospital he was trying to silence them by standing as far away from everything as he could get.

And then she was beside him.

"I figured I'd find you up here," she said quietly, as if she were some character in a bad made-for-television movie. House grunted, and she stepped forward to rest her own arms on the railing and gaze upon the scenery below.

Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her disheveled appearance. Now resembling more of a bird's nest than a jungle, her hair framed her pale face and brought out her hazel eyes, which were ringed with dark circles. "How's your son?" he asked, attempting to empty his voice of all emotion and cursing inwardly when it clipped on the last word.

Her lips curled into a painful smile, and she turned her attention from the city below her to the man standing by her side. "Better," she replied softly. "Thank you for that." Then, "House . . . We need to talk."

"Isn't it a little late for that?" he asked, refusing to meet her gaze. The raw anger in his voice surprised even him, and he had to take a short breath to stabilize himself.

His tone was enough to tell her what the look in his eyes had caused her to suspect. Bristling at the bitterness interspersed with his words, Cameron nonetheless responded with: "Better late than never." Then, when he didn't answer, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath in an apparent effort to steel her courage. "House . . ." she began, placing a tentative hand on his arm.

But she didn't get to finish, because suddenly he was whipping his head around to glare at her and her hand was falling forgotten to her side. "What?" he lashed, his tone causing her to shrink back against the roof's railing. "Are you going to apologize? Tell me that you're sorry you ever left? That you never told me that I'm a . . ." For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to complete this last. His chest constricted as he closed his eyes and drew a harsh breath, then turned back to the safety of the scene below him. His arm burned where her hand had been just a few short seconds before.

"What do you want to hear?" she whispered, inwardly cursing herself for letting him have such a negative effect on her.

"I don't want to hear anything," he returned, his eyes becoming glacial pools of ice. "What I want is for you to leave me alone."

Cameron took a shaky breath, drawing on the last reserves of strength that had been slowly siphoned from her over the previous two days. Then, fixing him with a sad, regretful smile, she replied: "I can't do that." Despite the extreme exhaustion that seemed to seep into her very bones, her voice came out soft and strong.

House furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. "Why the hell not?" he demanded, his own voice laced with bitterness.

"Because your son needs a father," she said simply.

He narrowed his eyes. "Shouldn't you have thought of that 18 months ago?" he bit, continuing to deprive her of his gaze.

"There's nothing I can do about that," Cameron whispered. "But I can do something about the future." She paused, then, "Which is why we're moving back to Princeton. I've -- I've accepted a job offer."

House clenched his stomach muscles in an effort to stop himself from flinching at the news. "With Yule?" he asked caustically, his estranged expression taking on an unreadable hue as he threw out the first name he could think of. Something, anything to hide the emotions that were arising within him at this latest piece of information.

Sensing the unspoken change, Cameron's next words came out gentler, albeit a bit firmer. "No," she replied. "With the immunology department at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital." House pivoted his head to the side and he fixed Cameron with an unblinking stare. "Cuddy offered it to me a few minutes ago," she told him, watching as his jaw muscles began to work. Then, "You may have cut off everyone else in your life, House, but I am begging you not to cut off Jake. I'm sorry that I kept him from you, but that doesn't change the fact that he's a real little boy. Or that he's your son." She began to turn away, but stopped after a couple of steps and drew in a breath. Her back still facing him, her voice laced with a mixture of regret and something else House couldn't quite place, she said, "He deserves a father, House."

And then she left, leaving House to stare up at the endless expanse of early morning sky, his thoughts an angry jumble of memories and wherefores.

MDMDMDMD

_"Why do I care?" she repeated, her eyes flashing dangerously. "I don't know, House. Perhaps it's because you're a brilliant doctor who's throwing away his lifelong career. Or maybe it's because, despite the numerous insults you throw my way and all the crap you've put me through, I still consider you a friend."_

_Scotch bottle safely in his hand, House advanced on the young woman, his own eyes flashing dangerously. "I'm not your friend, Dr. Cameron," he spat, saying the word 'doctor' like it was some sort of insult. "And I'm not some booboo you can just stick a band-aid on."_

_"Maybe I don't want to stick a band-aid on you," she shot back. "Maybe I just want to help."_

_"I don't need your help," he snapped, placing the bottle of scotch back on the piano and advancing closer to her still. In another minute he'd have her against the door. "What I need is for you to leave me alone."_

_Instead of backing down, however, she held her ground and matched his furious gaze with her own. It was amazing how gorgeous she became when her eyes flashed so dangerously. Despite himself, his stomach gave a little lurch as she raised her chin in defiance and said, "I think you do."_

_"And how exactly are you going to help me?" he beseeched, advancing so closely now that he could feel her breath against his face. His lips curved into a small smile when she took two involuntary steps backward and finally came up against the door._

_"I don't know yet," she murmured, still holding her own. Her eyes became a shade or two softer despite the defiance and determination he saw reflected there. "But I'm not going to leave and let you destroy yourself."_

_"What if I make you leave?" he asked softly. _

MDMDMDMD

"Don't you administrative types generally check for references before doing any hiring?" House queried, stepping into Cuddy's office with a raised brow.

"I take it you spoke with Dr. Cameron," Cuddy replied, not bothering to look up from her paperwork.

"Funny thing," House responded, taking several steps in the direction of her desk. "She seems to think she's been offered a job here at the hospital. Thing is, nobody contacted me for a reference." He leaned forward pseudo-conspiratorially. "Think the stress of having a son in the hospital is finally starting to kick in?"

Cuddy sighed and placed her pen on top of the stack of documents she had been perusing. "Do you have a problem with Dr. Cameron returning to work, Dr. House?" she asked, fixing him with her steely blue eyes. Somehow, she'd known when she'd made the offer that everyone's least favorite cripple would have something to say about it. Not that she was going to give him the benefit of running it by him first. Four immunologists and a constitutional lawyer later, she had had her fill of House's skewed approach at interoffice politics. Besides, Cameron was a damn good doctor and PPTH was lucky to have her.

"Problem?" House repeated, furrowing his brow. "Of course not, why would I have a problem?" He schooled his expression so that it depicted nothing but false innocence, and gestured at her top. "I was just concerned that the tight shirts were finally cutting off your oxygen supply, thereby hindering your ability to do your job correctly."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes and shot him a sardonic smile. "Concern duly noted," she said dryly, crossing her arms over her chest. "My oxygen supply is fine."

"Good to know," House nodded. He hesitated, clearly considering whether to say anything else. Though he wouldn't admit it, he had somehow thought that coming to Cuddy would make Cameron's news less real. It hadn't worked. He briefly toyed with the idea of getting Cuddy to reconsider, but knew that would be futile. Besides, he wasn't going to admit the effect it was having on him.

When House failed to say anything else, Cuddy spoke up. "How is Cameron's son?" she asked, her expression thoughtful.

"Better," House stated, staring at a spot on Cuddy's desk. "His eyesight is coming back, and his fever is subsiding."

"Good to know," Cuddy replied, mimicking House's earlier words. She paused, seeming to weigh something over in her mind. Then: "He's a beautiful child, House," she said, watching to gauge his reaction. The look in his eyes confirmed what she had suspected, and she couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for her employee. What a way to find out you were a father . . .

Not that it would cause her to change her mind about hiring Cameron. Sometimes she felt that House needed to be hit with a mack truck of reality, and she truly believed this was one of those times. Still, she found herself groping for something else to say in order to fill the awkwardness caused by her previous comment. Finally, she settled on levity. "Try to play nice," she said, her tone bordering on satiric yet her eyes flashing an unspoken warning despite the reasoning behind her words.

House blinked, half surprised by the sudden change in topic and half offset by her former comment. "I always play nice," he said at last, before turning around and heading out the door.

Cuddy's shoulders slumped.

MDMDMDMD

_"This session of the review board has been called for the sole purpose of determining suitable reprimand, if any, for the incident which took place on," Dr. Hammond consulted the paperwork in front of him, "October 13 at approximately 3:15 P.M. At that time, Dr. Allison Cameron," Dr. Hammond nodded to the pale young woman sitting in the corner of the room, and House turned to glare at her, "found one Dr. Gregory House unconscious in his office from morphine overdose."_

_"We know the circumstances," House cut in, his voice a low rumble. "Let's skip to the decision already." Wilson, who had been staring at the desk up until this time, snapped to attention and shot his friend a look of caution. House ignored him, instead glaring at the man doing the talking._

_The commissioner pursed his lips, his expression taking on a disapproving cast. Nonetheless: "Very well," he said, nodding. "It is this board's decision that Dr. Gregory House be put on a sixty day suspension, commencing today." Cameron's eyes went wide, and House fixed daggers at the man. The commissioner continued. "It is also this board's decision that Dr. Gregory House undergo mandatory physical therapy."_

_"The hell I will!" House erupted, his countenance irascible. His gaze flicked to Wilson, and the latter immediately looked back down at the desk._

_"Dr. House will undergo mandatory physical therapy," The commissioner repeated. "Or this committee will be forced to rethink its decision of keeping him on board at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital." _

MDMDMDMD

"'What is REAL?' asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. 'Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?'"

Wilson stood leaning against the open door, watching as Cameron read to her son. She hadn't yet noticed that he was there, and he couldn't bring himself to interrupt. There was something about the way she was leaning against the crib, her gentle voice filling the room as the child -- _House's son_, Wilson thought bemusedly -- seemingly hung onto her every word. It almost felt like he was witnessing something venerable. Finally, she reached a break in her reading and he cleared his throat, alerting her to his presence.

"Wilson," she said, a smile gracing her features. She put the book aside and placed a hand upon her small son's arm, the child closing his eyes at her touch.

"Allison," He replied, returning the smile as he stepped into the room and gave her a quick hug. "It's good to see you." He'd been so busy that he hadn't yet had a chance to stop by. "How are you holding up?"

"Better," Cameron admitted as she gazed upon her son. "Thanks for asking."

Wilson followed her gaze and took in the tiny boy. Clearly on his way to recovery, a pink tinge colored his small round cheeks, framed by a soft down of curly brown hair. He was a handsome kid. "I still can't believe he managed to procreate," he said, gesturing to the child as his lips curled into a coy smile.

Cameron blinked in surprise. So House had told Wilson . . . Somehow, the idea gave her a bit of hope. "It had to happen sometime," she replied, groping for words as Wilson took a seat in the chair beside her own.

There was a brief silence, then both spoke at the same time. "Has House been to see --" Wilson began just as Cameron said, "How is House?"

Wilson chuckled. "Guess that answers that question," he said, and Cameron gave a shaky laugh. "The last I saw him he was organizing his filing cabinet."

Cameron frowned. "He hates filing," she mused, fingering one of her son's soft curls.

"I know," Wilson replied, then laughed. "It's a good thing I hid his new bottle of scotch, or he'd be . . ." But he stopped himself at the look on Cameron's face. Feeling a tug of pity, he fixed the young woman with gentle eyes. "Allison --"

"It's okay," Cameron cut him off, holding up a hand. "I knew this wasn't going to be easy."

Wilson studied her for a moment, his expression growing serious. "Look, I know this is none of my business, but . . . Why didn't you tell him about," he gestured toward the child, "your son?"

Cameron bristled. "Things just . . . happened," she said vaguely, refusing to meet his gaze.

Wilson knew better than to push and an awkward silence descended upon them. "Well, listen," he said finally, pushing himself out of the chair. "It looks like you could use some sleep, and I've got a patient that I'd really better check up on."

She forced her lips into a smile. "I guess I'll see you later," she said.

Wilson nodded and began to head toward the door. Just as he was about to reach it, however, he seemed to think better and turned back around. "Allison," he began, fixing her with a sober look. "I know this isn't easy, but . . . Give him a chance. I really think he'll come around."

Cameron sighed. "That's why I'm here," she said, and Wilson could see the truth reflected in her tired hazel eyes.


	5. Juicey?

NOTE OF THANKS: I would like to express how deeply grateful I am for my reviewers. The fact that you all take the time to let me know what you think means more to me than you might know. For this reason, I'd like to dedicate this next chapter to each of you.

DISCLAIMER: I'm in the process of kidnapping them. Shhh! Don't tell anybody.

* * *

_House groaned and covered his eyes as some rude, obtrusive person opened the door to his office and flicked on the light. "Do you mind?" he asked testily as he popped three vicodin. "I was having my afternoon nap."_

_Wilson rolled his eyes. "Duly noted," he stated, plopping a folder on his desk. "That would explain why I couldn't find you downstairs in the clinic."_

_"Actually," House returned, rubbing his thigh, "That can be explained by the sheer boredom of mind numbing hours correcting asinine acts by the population of idiots that seem to inhabit this place."_

_Wilson raised his brows. "Someone's chipper," he stated. "Maybe if you actually did something in the clinic besides sleep, you'd find it wasn't so boring after all."_

_"I doubt it," House replied, his fingers digging deeply into the pain that was his leg._

_The gesture did not go unnoticed by his amber-haired friend. "Your leg giving you trouble?" he asked. Despite himself, a look of concern entered his brown eyes._

_"Not at all," House shot back, reaching once again for his bottle of vicodin. "In fact, I'd liken it to a warm, gentle massage."_

_"Uh-huh," Wilson replied dryly, making a mental note to ask again later. For now, he chose instead to focus on the folder he'd just deposited upon the desk. "I've got a case I need you to look at. Ten-year old kid checked into the hospital with fever, bruising and joint pain two days ago."_

_House leaned back in his chair and studied his friend. "Why are you giving it to me?" he asked, arching a brow._

_"I don't know," Wilson retorted. "Maybe it was that pesky notion that because you're a doctor, it's your job to actually help people."_

_"I thought we'd put that notion to rest years ago," House responded, enjoying Wilson's sudden change from concerned physician to sarcastic browbeater. He leaned forward and fixed the other man with sardonic eyes. "Why are you really giving it to me? Come on, you know you have a reason."_

_Wilson sighed. "At first they thought it was leukemia, and gave it to me," he stated. "But the tests have all come back negative."_

_"And you won't be able to rest easy until you know what's really ailing him," House finished, the corner of his mouth rising in a smirk._

_"Yeah, I happen to care," Wilson retorted. "I'm just crazy that way."_

_"Fine," House said, grabbing the file. "Get me my minions."_

_"So you'll take the case?" Wilson's eyes widened hopefully._

_"I'll take it."_

_Two days later, he wished he'd never agreed . . ._

* * *

Suddenly, House was cut off mid-memory as the janitor managed to slam his cart into his office door. Cursing under his breath, he glared at the man, who in turn waved apologetically and beat a hasty retreat. Transferring his glare to the file in his hand, he shoved it into his file cabinet and slammed the drawer. He'd had enough of organizing. In fact, he decided as he noticed the incredibly late hour reflected on the clock, it was time to get the hell out of this place. And away from its taunting memories.

Grabbing his cane and his coat, he quickly hobbled down the hallway in a quest for the elevator. It was when he was almost there that a little niggling feeling began at the back of his mind. Twisting his mouth, he paused for a moment in an attempt to rid himself of the thought that was quickly arising. Unfortunately, this turned out to be a losing battle and he soon found himself heading in the direction of room 714.

When he arrived, he found them both sound asleep. Nevertheless, he entered the room and took in the scene. His heart skipped a beat as he took in her small, feminine form curled up on the hospital-issued cot. Even asleep she looked beautiful. House sighed in impatience as this new thought surfaced in his mind. If things didn't change soon, he'd be offering himself up for a trial lobotomy.

Still, he couldn't stop himself from standing above her cot, forcing his mind to remain blissfully blank as he watched her chest rise and fall with each new breath. A strange sensation arose in his abdomen, and he found himself reaching down to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her tiny ear (the movement really was out of his control). He was stopped in mid-act, however, when a small voice spoke up from behind.

"Mama."

Snatching his hand back from its tantalizing descent, House twisted around to see that the small boy had woken up. "Mama sleep," the child stated, gazing up at House with curious eyes as the strange doctor moved subconsciously toward his crib.

"Well, it looks like you've got your eyesight back," he told the kid, taking in his small prone figure before settling upon the child's gaze. An unreadable expression crossed House's face as blue met blue, an exchange of curiosity and (was that awe? fear? hesitancy?) as son and father truly beheld one another for the first time. House would never be able to describe the emotions that coursed through him as his son peered up at him from his tiny bed. What he did know was that he experienced a certain rush of feeling that caused his breathing to grow a bit shallower as a tight knot formed itself in his stomach. "What was your mother thinking?" he whispered as a definite look of wonder and dread entered his crystal blue eyes.

But the child did not answer. Instead, he fixed hopeful eyes on his father and asked "Juicey?"

House arched a brow, but did not move. Something about the kid's gaze was paralyzing. It was only when the child pointed his chubby finger and repeated himself ("Juicey?") that the arched brow became furrowed as House considered the strange language. Juicy? What the hell was that supposed to mean? He was pretty sure the kid wasn't asking for a juicy steak. Using the alien term as an excuse to take his eyes off the toddler, he glanced around the room in an attempt to decipher the meaning of this new word. His eyes fell upon a rollaway table situated to the side of the crib, and a spill-proof cup which rested upon its edge.

Understanding dawned upon House's features as he picked up the cup and sniffed at its contents. "Juice," he stated, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. "We've really got to work on your grasp of the English language," he told the kid as he handed him the cup.

"Juicey!" The child said happily, lifting the tumbler to his small pink mouth. The corner of House's own mouth lifted in a tiny smirk as his wary gaze took in the kid with the glass. Unbidden, he looked back up at the child's eyes, a quick, sharp pain emanating from his leg as he noticed again how alike they were with his own. And then all thoughts were forced from his mind as the cup clattered to the floor and the child began to seize.

A look of alarm crossed House's face as the realization of what was happening came over him. His heart giving a painful tug, he rushed to the doorway. "I need a crash cart!" he yelled before turning back around and running-hobbling to the crib. He barely noticed as a now wide awake Cameron rushed to his side and took hold of her son.

"Push some Ativan!" House ordered as soon as the nurse entered the room with the requested cart. "NOW!" He shouted when she took too long.

Ignoring his tone of voice, the nurse quickly filled the syringe with Ativan and administered the dosage through the child's IV. Within moments, the seizing had stopped and the small boy burst into tears. Cameron enveloped her son in a tight embrace and fixed desperate eyes on House. "What's wrong now?" she demanded.

House shook his head, the effects of the emergency clear upon his tightly drawn face. "I don't know," he admitted. He paused for a moment, taking in Cameron and . . . her child. He took an unconscious step toward the pair before he came back to himself and headed out of the room.

* * *

_"What if I make you leave?" he asked softly, raising his hand so that it rested just beside her chestnut curls._

_"Try me," she replied, but he could hear a waver in her voice and a faint smile etched across his lips. And then, as if on its own volition, House's hand moved to Cameron's cheek and began to caress. He watched with pleasure as the gesture caused a momentary expression of panic to waft across her imploring hazel eyes._

_"Maybe I will," he whispered, his thumb moving to stroke the corner of her mouth. What came next, House would forever blame on the combination of alcohol mixed with vicodin. Whatever the case, an instant later his mouth had descended and he had begun roughly brushing Cameron's lips with his own. Cameron's eyes went wide at the sensation of his stormy kisses, and she seemed to freeze, the strong smell of scotch stinging her nostrils. It didn't last long, however, as his kisses grew in fervor and her skin began tingling with pent-up emotions. Within seconds, she was lifting her hands to run her fingers through his hair. "House . . ." she murmured, and he took the chance to push his tongue into the dark recesses of her mouth._

_As their kiss intensified, tongues dueling desperately, something inside House began to crack. The feel of Cameron's silky skin underneath his calloused hands, her smooth lips enveloping his demanding mouth in wet tumultuous kisses . . . It was all he could do to remain standing as he frantically began unbuttoning her baby blue shirt, his lips trailing kisses along her collarbone._

_As he reached the sensitive spot between chin and throat, Cameron issued a moan and pulled him taut against her tiny frame. Suddenly, his own shirt was being pulled from his body and Cameron was desperately applying kisses to his neck. The sensation was overwhelming, and House found his mind slipping into blissful emptiness as Cameron's lips left little trails of fire in their wake. His jeans jeans becoming painfully tight, the only thing he could do was place his lips to her ear and gruffly murmur, "Bedroom."_

* * *

After House left the kid's room, he had spent two hours in the lab trying to determine the cause of the seizure (it turned out to be a simple allergic reaction to the medication). By the time he was done, it had been 3 am and he had opted to sleep in his office. The thought that he could have slouched the work off onto one of his lackeys had crossed his mind, but he'd quickly pushed it away. Now, as his dream was interrupted by the immense pain in his leg caused from sleeping on the floor, he wondered what the hell had possessed him to stay. Groaning, he ran his hand across the carpet and quickly came up with his vicodin. Just as he was knocking back two pills dry, Cuddy walked into the room and switched on the light.

"Trying to give me a pain in my head to go with the one in my leg?" House snapped, his hand quickly covering his eyes.

Cuddy raised her brows in surprise. "Did you spend the night here?" she asked, taking in his disheveled appearance.

"No, I was waiting for the hooker," House returned, pushing himself off the floor with his cane and looking around the room. "But gosh darn, it looks like she never showed up." He turned sardonic eyes on his boss. "You want to take her place?"

"Gee --"

"Now you're a little old, so I won't pay you as much," he continued, hobbling across the room to his favorite leather chair and plopping down into it. "But don't worry, I promise to show you a good time."

Cuddy crossed her arms over her chest, an exasperated yet amused expression crossing her face. "Cute," she said. "Now I know why you're such a lady's man."

"What can I say?" House smirked, leaning back in the chair and holding up his cane. "The ladies just can't get enough of the wood."

"I'll bet," Cuddy drawled. She paused, her expression turning serious. "I hear there were complications last night."

"Wow, nothing gets by you, does it?" he retorted, attempting to cover the unsettled feeling that had descended upon him at the abrupt change to this particular subject. "You'd think you were in charge or something."

Ignoring the comment, Cuddy continued. "Is everything okay now?" she asked.

House sighed. He wasn't in the mood to relive last night, but clearly Cuddy wasn't stopping. "It's fine," he said shortly, looking at his desk. "He had an allergic reaction to the medication, so I switched him to something else."

Cuddy's expression became a little softer at the tone in her employee's voice. Despite everything House had put both her and the hospital through during his tenure at PPTH, she considered him a friend. And despite the fact that he would never come out and say it, she knew he was hurting. Hell, he was probably damned confused as well. She knew she would be. "Good to hear," she said, then in an effort to close wounds, she chose to sidestep to the next issue. "I have another case for you."

House blinked at the sudden change of topic. "What, did Stacy have a kid, too?" he returned, again attempting to hide the discomfort this conversation was causing him. Damn Cuddy. He had been all comfy on the floor, and she had to come in and start talking about work. You'd think they were supposed to be doing their jobs or something.

"Not that I know of," Cuddy replied, the corner of her mouth lifting upward in a half-smile. She handed him the file that she'd been holding up until now. "Six-year old boy presented Wednesday with rhinorrhea and a cough," she stated, turning businesslike.

House arched his brow. "You woke me up from a deep sleep to give me a kid with a cold?" he droned.

"You were awake when I got here," she reminded him. "And it's not just a cold. It's gotten worse over the course of the week and he's now suffering from severe weakness and night sweats."

"Great," House said, slapping the file down on his desk. "I'll get right on it."

"House," Cuddy said warningly. "The kid's deteriorating, and we don't know what's wrong. I need you to take the case."

"I'll take it," he told her, then started making shooing motions with his hand. "Now if you don't mind, I was having a really good dream."

Cuddy sighed. "Fine," she said. "Just make sure you do some actual work in between dreaming." She turned and left the room, making a mental note to inform Foreman about the case.

House watched her leave, then picked up the file and started leafing through it. If nothing else, it'd help him get his mind off other things.


	6. Dada?

DEDICATION: To Everyone Lies, who took the time to review the last chapter. Thank you, Everyone Lies! You rock.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, although as you'll soon see, I've apparently taken them hostage.;-)

_And now, ducklingage . . ._

* * *

"Hey, guys," Cameron greeted as Foreman and Chase entered the room. The weight of the previous week seemed to have disappeared from her shoulders, and a healthy tinge colored her cheeks.

"Hey," Chase replied, giving his former colleague a quick hug. "You're looking a lot better."

"I'm feeling a lot better," she admitted. It had been three days since Jake's seizure, and he was responding wonderfully to the medicine.

"Well, we're here to check on your son," Foreman said. "If everything's okay, you guys can go home."

"Great!" Cameron smiled. "It'll be good to get off this cot. I'm beginning to think they've actually built hidden lumps into it."

Foreman chuckled. "I wouldn't be surprised," he said, placing his stethoscope to the small boy's chest – an act made easier by the fact that he had lowered the sides of the child's crib, turning it into a standard hospital bed.

The little boy shifted position, his face wrinkling when the unexpectedly cool instrument touched his chest. Luckily, the stethoscope soon went away and Foreman moved on to checking the read-outs from the child's monitors, leaving him to consider the two men. "Hi-hi," he said, looking curiously from Chase to Foreman. Now that he was more alert, he was apparently interested in who they were.

"Hey, kid," Chase said, advancing to his bed and taking a seat just as Foreman finished his examination. "You want to see a trick?" The child's eyes widened with interest, and Chase leaned closer to him and reached behind his ear. "Hey, look," he said, feigning shock and holding up a glinting silver disk, "You've got a quarter behind your ear!"

Cameron laughed. "That's the cheesiest trick I've seen in a long time, Chase," she said, smiling at her son's apparent delight at the coin that had just been extracted from his ear.

"More!" The little boy demanded, fixing Chase with imploring eyes. Chase laughed and tickled him.

"Since when do you have an interest in kids?" Foreman asked, his eyebrows arched at his colleague's behavior.

Chase shrugged. "Give me a break. I have nephews." And he went back to tickling the child, who squealed with delight.

Amused, Foreman watched the antics for a moment longer before turning back to Cameron. "Well, he appears to be fine," he said. "I'll go ahead and draw up the discharge papers. Do you have somewhere to go?"

"Actually, I do," Cameron replied. "I rented a condo the day Jake was admitted." When Foreman raised his eyebrows in surprise, she continued with an explanation. "I've been planning on moving back for awhile," she told him. "I think my mail's even being forwarded."

Foreman seemed to mull this information over, then glanced at Cameron's son and hesitated, considering. After a moment, his expression turned serious and he asked, "He's House's, isn't he?"

Cameron's gaze darted to the ground just as Chase's head whipped up, the question catching his attention. "Yes," she admitted, and Foreman nodded in sudden understanding. It explained a lot.

Nearby, Chase's mouth dropped open in shocked surprise. "When did this happen?" he splurted, his hands hanging in mid-air from his ceased tickling antics.

Cameron paused, her demeanor reluctant. She really didn't want to get into it. So much had happened back then, so many details that she had expertly kept hidden from her fellow doctors. Details that she was in no state to divulge now. Luckily, she was spared from having to elaborate when Wilson walked into the room.

"Allison," he smiled at the woman and gave her a quick hug. "I understand you two are leaving today?"

"It looks like it," she confirmed, shooting him a grateful look for his impeccable timing.

"I bet you'll be happy to get out of here," he said, looking around at the room's various occupants. The corners of his mouth turned downward in a frown. "Where's House?" he asked, knowing the answer all too well.

Cameron sighed. "I don't know," she stated, her eyes flicking to her son. "He hasn't been to see Jake since his seizure."

Wilson rolled his eyes and exhaled, pushing back the sleeves of his shirt, while Chase and Foreman suddenly became very busy with other things. "I'm sorry," he said, fixing her with a sympathetic gaze. "You know it's going to take –"

"– I know," Cameron cut him off. She felt a little guilty at his startled expression, but just as she was in no mind to divulge hidden details, she was also in no condition to talk about House's clear lack of levelheadedness when it came to their son. Instead, she looked over at Foreman, who was deftly keeping out of the conversation by doing some unneeded operation with the monitors. "Discharge papers?" she reminded him, more anxious than ever to leave the confines of the room.

"Right," Foreman said, snapping back to the present. He grabbed Jake's chart and quickly headed out of the room, pausing only long enough to say, "I'll have them ready in about twenty minutes." Thankful for the excuse, Chase shot Cameron one last hesitant smile and followed after him.

Cameron watched them leave, then returned her attention to Wilson, noting that his sympathy had traveled from his eyes into his smile. "Well, I guess we'll see you on Monday, then," he said.

"You will," Cameron confirmed, willing him to leave and not voice any more questions about her past. This created an awkward silence, until Wilson finally nodded and headed out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Cameron exhaled with relief and collapsed into the nearest chair, burying her head in her hands.

* * *

_House watched the slew of emotions play across the young woman's face at his nonchalance. It was almost enough to make him reconsider. But not enough. What had happened the night before shouldn't have happened. Wouldn't have happened, if he hadn't been drugged and drunk. And despite the fact that deep down inside, he knew that he'd wanted this to happen ever since he'd first laid eyes on this woman, he wasn't willing to give into it. This wasn't good for either of them . . . it wasn't good for her. And damn it, he wasn't going to let it happen again._

_Cameron took a deep breath. "House, something happened between us last night, and –"_

"– _And now you think that we're gonna be all touchy feely, and I'm gonna break down, weeping, and tell you that I was abused by Uncle Ned when I was five and it's caused me so much pain through the years that, gosh darn it, I just can't stop taking these miraculous little pills." With that, House grabbed the vicodin from his pocket, popped the lid and dry swallowed two pills. "You may be able to take away my yummy brown liquid," he said, referring to the (nonsexual) shenanigans of the night before, "but you can't take away my beautiful little pills." A smirk played across his lips as he held the bottle out of her reach, yet an unwelcome feeling of pity played itself in his heart as he took in the crestfallen look upon her face. Still, he fixed his jaw and forced himself to remain resolute._

"_So that's it?" Cameron demanded. "That's all you're going to say?"_

_Not allowing himself time to think, House gave a quick, short nod. "Yup. That's it."_

"_Great, House," Cameron nodded. "Sure. Fine. I guess I'll see you when your suspension's up." With that, she turned on her heel and headed for the door._

_As he watched her walk toward his door, shoulders slumped, House did something for which he would forever blame the combination of stupidity mixed with vicodin. His resolution crumbled. "Cameron, wait," he said, quickly crossing the room and grabbing her hand._

_His touch caused a deep fiery sensation to soar up her arm, but she refused to turn around. "What?" she mumbled, staring at the door._

_House hesitated, his abrupt bravado quickly seeping away. What the hell was he playing at? "Nothing," he said, dropping her hand and looking at the ground. "You can go."_

_But the momentary stutter had given Cameron new courage. Turning around, she fixed him with_ _determined eyes. "What do you want, House?"_

_Her question, in and of itself an indication that she wasn't going to leave after all, caused a pang to resound in his chest -- an unidentifiable feeling that he quickly pushed aside. Instead, he raised his gaze, an eyebrow arched. "I'm sorry, have you gone deaf? Perhaps we should –"_

"_Stop it," she interrupted. "What do you want? Because I don't think it comes in the form of a needle and syringe. And I don't think it involves pushing me away." This last was said a little quieter as it caused her heart to thump nervously in her throat. It was something she would have never said before, something he would never admit. But being with him last night, experiencing him at his most vulnerable . . . It had given her the courage to voice the embedded belief she had for so long held onto._

_Her gaze was unnerving. It made House want to do things, and not all of them were of the cuddly variety. "What do you know about it?" he snapped. "You don't know a damn thing about me."_

_This caused Cameron to smile, a sad wistful hue emerging upon her face. "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?" she asked. "Because then it would mean you could keep on hiding." House glared, but Cameron took a few steps closer to him. By the time she stopped, he could feel her breath on his cheek. "I know you're a brilliant doctor," she said softly. "And a sarcastic ass," she paused, her eyes gazing deeply into his own. That gaze would be the end of him. "And I know that you're completely miserable, and have no idea how to stop yourself from completing this downward spiral."_

"_Go away," he said gruffly, her words and proximity expelling all possible quips and comebacks from his mind._

_It was enough to tell her that she was doing the right thing. "No," she said simply. Then, before he knew what was happening, she had reached up and brushed his lips with her own. For a moment, he thought seriously about pushing her away and delivering such a stinging remark that she was sure never to pull anything like this again. But then her hands started tangling themselves in his hair, her tongue darted across his lower lip, and he was reluctantly allowing her entrance. A moment later, their tongues were clashing feverishly as their bodies moved in rhythm with their ragged breaths. And soon after that, everything else was forgotten._

* * *

House wound his arms around his chest in an effort to pull his leather jacket tighter against his sinewy frame. It was damn cold out tonight, and the fact that he'd been sitting at the edge of a park, straddling his motorcycle for the last hour and a half only added to the chill. Nor did it help the incredible ache that had descended upon his leg.

Jake Cameron _(House unconsciously pursed his lips at the name) _had been released earlier that day with a plethora of antibiotics and an admonition to his mother to bring him in for a follow-up appointment in a week's time. House had not shown up for the release, nor had he been anywhere in the nearby vicinity. Wilson had finally discovered him at home, banging out a cacophony of notes on his piano. _"You're an idiot, you know that?" _House had been only too willing to provide a glib response, letting Wilson's reprimand fall on deaf ears.

So why the hell was he straddling his motorcycle at 10 in the evening, staring at Cameron's newly rented condominium? And what exactly was he hoping to accomplish from it? His leg was killing him, and still he sat astride his bike watching her house as the world around him grew dark. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his bottle of pills, then knocked back two in a vain attempt to stop the pain in its tracks.

After Wilson had finished his lecture and left him in peace, he'd discovered that he'd run out of scotch. Somehow it seemed to be disappearing a lot quicker these days. Fully intending on making a run to the nearby liquor store, instead he'd found himself taking side streets and traveling upon roads that led nowhere near the miraculous shop.

He supposed it was a good thing she lived near a park, or her neighbors might start getting suspicious. As it was, he'd gotten a couple of strange looks, but had quickly quelled them with a well-placed glare. For the most part, however, he was protected by the cover of trees and could stay there as long as he liked.

Though he wouldn't admit it, he knew what he was doing bordered on asinine. A normal person might well walk up to the door and knock. But he wasn't normal. And he sure as hell wasn't going to knock on the door, alerting her to his presence. Instead, he sat there staring at her house, trying to crush the onslaught of thoughts that threatened to invade his mind. Unfortunately, his efforts were in vain.

_The young boy looked anxiously out at the audience, his eyes roving the crowd in search of one particular person. Soon, they landed upon his mother, his Aunt Vicki, and even his grandfather. But his dad was nowhere in sight. The boy furrowed his brow in confusion. He knew his dad had to be there. They had pinkie swore. But maybe he was out getting a drink or something. Yeah, that had to be it. He knew his father wouldn't lie to him._

_His explorations were cut short, however, when his teacher announced: "Please give your attention to our youngest protege, Gregory Jonathan House."_

_The boy's eyes went wide. He hadn't realized his turn would be up so fast. Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, he wrung his hands in anticipation. If the Major saw how nervous he was, he would never approve. And this performance – the first that his father had ever been to see – was for him. For this reason, the boy walked resolutely onto the stage, intent on giving a stellar performance. He might not have found his father, but he was sure that he was out there._

_Taking a seat at the piano bench, he began to play Beethoven's 'Tempest,' a look of determination in his young eyes. As the notes filled the room, the shuffling and murmuring came to an abrupt end. Despite his age, this boy had definite talent. Soon, most members of the audience were attentive and alert, and several were smiling in appreciation._

_When the song came to an end and the applause died down, the boy adjusted the microphone and_ _looked out at the crowd. "I'd like to dedicate this song to my dad," he said sincerely, and once again he scanned the faces before him to find the man who had pinkie swore he'd be at the recital. And then, as his eyes landed upon his mother's pitiful gaze, his heart constricted with the awful truth. The reason he couldn't find his father before, the reason he wasn't there now . . . Tears stung his eyes as he realized that his dad had failed to show up._

* * *

_As soon as they arrived home, the boy stomped into his room and slammed the door. He could hear his parents outside, talking in hushed voices. He was sure his mother was being docile, forgiving his dad. Well, that was fine for her. He, himself, would never forgive him. He had pinkie swore that he'd be there this time! Which is what he said when his father entered his room several minutes later._

_This pronouncement caused the Major to sigh and fix his son with a reproachful stare. "Gregory, I work for the United States Military. Do you have any idea how important that is?"_

_The boy refused to meet his father's eyes, instead looking sullenly at his pillow. He didn't answer._

_Again, the Major sighed. "I had to do what was right, son. I wanted to be at that recital, but our country needed me."_

"_I needed you," the boy mumbled, delivering a good punch to his pillow._

"_Not as much as our country, son."_

"_Our country couldn't have waited for one recital?" The boy burst out, whipping his head around to fix his father with beseeching eyes._

_The Major's gaze hardened. "Gregory, I don't expect you to understand this. But I do expect you to stop acting like a selfish brat. Do you understand that?"_

_Glaring at the floor, the boy nonetheless responded with a sullen, "Yes."_

"_Good," The Major said, as if that wrapped the matter up. "Now get out of here and help your mother with dinner." With that, he exited the room._

_The boy glared after him, his jaw working furiously. "I understand that everybody lies," he said, giving his pillow one last good whack as the pronoucement rang true in his young mind. He would never trust his father again._

Suddenly, a shrill ring cut through the night, jarring House back to the present. Cursing under his breath, he removed his cell phone from his front jeans pocket and flipped it open. He didn't recognize the number reflected on the screen, and for a moment he paused, considering whether to answer it. The time exhibited on the monitor showed that it was past 11, meaning that whoever was calling either had the wrong number or seemed to think it was pretty important. It was this detail in particular that finally led him to press the button depicting the green phone and raise the receiver to his ear. "Hello?" he questioned, his voice emerging rough and raspy from the 3-hour vigil spent sitting on his bike. The voice that answered caused his heart to skip a beat.

"House?" Cameron queried, and he could hear the worry in her words. Glancing toward her house, he noticed with some trepidation that, despite the hour, the front light was still on.

"Cameron?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she began hesitantly. "I was just wondering . . . Are you going to sit out there all night, or would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?"

* * *

Cameron was already standing in the open doorway with a cup of coffee by the time House made it up the walk. "Were you just going to sit out there all night and freeze?" she asked, handing him the cup.

"It's a nice night," he countered, grabbing the coffee and popping a vicodin. "I was enjoying the breeze."

"Uh-huh," Cameron replied, shutting the door and following House into the living room. Crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the wall, she watched nervously as he shuffled about the room, taking in his surroundings. She considered telling him to have a seat, but could tell he was uptight and thought that maybe this exploratory jaunt would take off a bit of the edge. So she didn't say anything when he started going through the boxes that cluttered the room.

"I see you got your belongings okay," he said, taking a picture frame out of one of the cartons.

"We did," Cameron acknowledged, watching as House studied the picture. It was a shot of she and Jake, taken at the park about a month before. A slight prick of hope resounded in her heart as she noticed the attention he was giving it. "My friend Shelly took care of it for us."

"Tall blonde, fond of cops?" House inquired, placing the frame on the mantelpiece and taking a sip of his coffee. "Enjoys exposing children to infectious diseases?"

"I think she prefers 'Shelly,'" Cameron replied, rolling her eyes. She watched with a touch of annoyed amusement as he picked some books out of another box, studying them and shaking his head at his apparent disdain of their contents. Even after three years, he was the same old House. In a way, it was refreshing.

It was when he sauntered over to her coffee table, however, and began rifling through her forwarded mail that the refreshment ended and she said (a bit sharply), "Why don't you have a seat?"

House arched a brow, but did as he was told. Taking a seat in the ottoman, he placed his right leg on its accompanying foot rest and popped two more vicodin.

Cameron sighed. At this rate, he'd be finishing the bottle within the hour. "So . . ." she said, following suit and sitting down on the couch (which just happened to be on the other side of the room from where House had taken his own seat).

"So . . ." House echoed, staring at her expressionlessly, yet subconsciously thumping his fingers upon the armrest and making a mental note to pick a shadier tree next time.

"How have you been?" she tried, inwardly chiding herself afterward. If that wasn't an opening for disaster, she didn't know what was.

For his part, House didn't fall into the trap. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders and said, "Got a new patient."

"Any idea what's wrong?" she asked, eager for any opening to a reasonable conversation.

"Not yet. I've got the minions doing some tests. We'll know more after that."

"Oh." Searching her mind for a suitable response and not finding one, Cameron reluctantly allowed the conversation to lapse into silence.

It was too much for House. Draining the rest of his coffee in one quick gulp, he placed the cup on the coffee table and pushed himself out of the ottoman. "I should get going," he said, shooting Cameron a forced smile and taking a few steps toward the door.

The suggestion caused a quick pang in Cameron's gut. Before she knew what she was doing, she had jumped off the sofa and placed her hand on House's arm. "Wait," she told him, ignoring the tingling sensation that came with the direct contact.

House stared at Cameron's hand for a moment before looking up into her pleading eyes. "Why?" he asked, his tone hesitant, weary, and . . . challenging? His arm burned where her hand lay.

Cameron took a deep breath. "Because . . ." she began, and trailed off. When House's expressionless eyes took on a hint of the challenge, she continued. "Because we're going to have to do this sooner or later," she finished lamely, letting her hand drop to her side.

"Do what?" House queried, this time his tone carrying more of a challenge.

"Talk," she said. "About everything that's . . . happened. Everything that's happening."

He could see the defeated exasperation in her face, and for some reason it caused his shoulders to tense. "What exactly do you see happening, Cameron?" he asked, not surprised to hear anger joining the emotions in his already weighty voice.

Cameron sighed. "I'm not sure. We have to –"

" – We have to what?" He interrupted, his words stinging the rigid air. If they were going to do this, then they might as well do it right. "Pretend that everything's okay now that you've come back and told me I'm a father?" His glare deepened as he enunciated this last word.

Cringing at the rising level of his voice, Cameron continued nonetheless. "We've been over this before," she stated, her own voice determined despite the anger she saw reflected in House's stance. "I made a mistake. I should have told you. But Jake deserves a father."

"Something you should have thought of two years ago!" He yelled, his accusing blue eyes boring into her own hazel. "But you didn't. Because you knew then what you damn well should know now – I'd make a hell of a father. That kid will be so screwed up, he won't be able to see straight!"

"Would you keep your voice down?" Cameron demanded, her own anger level rising. "'That kid' is currently sleeping, and I'd like to keep him that way."

House's nostrils flared and his eyes blazed, but he did not say anything for a moment. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, a slight touch of hurt joined the discord of emotions currently swirling throughout his (now quieter) tone. "Why did you leave?"

Slightly taken aback by the abrupt change of topic, there was a brief pause before Cameron answered. "You know why I left," she stated. "There was a lot going on, and --

" – When did you find out you were pregnant?"

Cameron took a deep breath, her gaze wavering. "Why?"

"Answer the question, Cameron," he demanded.

Cameron closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them to reveal an intractable, beseeching gaze, which she fixed upon House's own rocklike stare. "Why is this important?" she asked, knowing exactly where he was going and not wanting to take it there. There were a million reasons why she'd left, and she didn't think that any of them needed to be settled tonight. Nay, she knew none of them needed to be settled tonight. Neither one of them was in the frame of mind to do so. Unfortunately, this fact didn't stop House.

"You knew," he accused, his face a hard shell of a mask. "Before you left. You knew you were pregnant. Didn't you?"

Her response was to exhale and drop her gaze to the ground.

It was enough of an answer for House. His stomach twisting into an awful knot of hurt and betrayal, he couldn't keep his voice low any longer. "And now you come back here," he yelled, gesturing wildly to the room around him, "And expect me to be daddy dearest. I'm not –"

But Cameron didn't get to hear exactly what House wasn't, as his words were cut off when a loud wail began to sound from far down the hallway. Quickly raising her gaze, she fixed House with an icy glare. "You're an ass," she stated before hurrying toward the sound of the cry. He was almost satisfied to notice the hint of tears in her eyes.

The satisfaction abated, however, when he remembered that he was still standing in her living room. Taking a look around, he found himself seriously considering the front door. It would be so easy to just walk out. To hell with Cameron. To hell with . . . His shoulders slumped as he realized that he couldn't complete this last thought. Briefly inclining his eyes to the ceiling, his thoughts and emotions ran rampant as his jaw worked furiously. Then, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a quick loud huff, he followed Cameron into the depths of the hall.

When he arrived at the room, she was cuddling the kid and whispering soothing nothings into his ear. It was almost enough to make him rethink his decision. Instead, he placed himself in the entranceway and stared at the floor, inwardly cursing himself for not having the wherewithal to just walk out the front door.

His silent berating was interrupted, however, when the kid looked up from his mother's arms and saw him standing there. "Hi-hi," he said softly, distracting House from a particularly interesting spot on the carpet to find that he was being stared at with intent curiosity. "Hi," House found himself saying, unable to ignore the child.

Cameron quickly turned around, surprised to find that House was still there. She'd expected him to bolt the moment her back was turned. A tiny smile spread across her lips as, not wanting to break eye contact, Jake shifted slightly in her arms, and she noticed the look being exchanged between father and son. "Jake," she said, knowing that what she was doing could have disastrous results but realizing that it had to be done. "I'd like you to meet your daddy."

House's gaze shifted like lightening to Cameron's own, and he was disconcerted to find that the look reflected there was one of challenging intensity. He quickly looked away, not wanting to suffer anymore of that expression than need be.

His attention sufficiently diverted, he didn't notice the small boy cock his head and stare at his mother. He did, however, hear the tiny voice in its attempt to fumble out the strange word. "D-Dada?" It tried, and House's wary gaze flicked back to the child. When Cameron smiled at her son and nodded, he turned his attention back to House. "Dada?" he questioned.

At this newest enunciation, an abrupt warmness filled House's chest. Despite himself, he took an unconscious step into the room, his eyes glued to his son. The little boy watched him curiously, interestedly taking in the man who he had met just a few short days before. Suddenly, a smile lit up his small face and he reached his arms out toward that man. Perhaps it was this unexpected gesture of trust that caused House to come crashing back to reality, or maybe it was simply the warring emotions in his head. Whatever the case, he stopped in his tracks, his gaze quickly switching from the child to Cameron.

Anyone else might not have noticed, but Cameron saw that the challenge in House's eyes was gone. In its place was deeply disguised fear. She felt her heart twist in sympathy, and then sudden displeasure. Because before anyone really knew what was happening, House had turned on his heel and quickly headed back down the hall and out the front door, leaving Cameron and her son in his wake.

* * *

Okay. Well, in an effort to get all of you to review, I've decided to take a leaf out of the book of one of my favorite author's. If any of you are into Harry Potter fanfiction (particularly Ron/Hermione), go check out her stuff. Her pen name is Silvver Phoenix.

_Cue the music to 'New York, New York' by Frank Sinatra. Suddenly, House is pushed onto a stage, cane and top hat in hand. His jaw is working furiously._

**House: "Apparently, we've all been taken hostage by some crazy writer. Quick, call the guy with the handcuffs."**

**Me: "Shush, you, and sing!"**

_House glares, and I quickly type a few things on the computer. Suddenly, he bursts into song, waving his top hat and holding his cane at an angle in front of him (although the look in his eyes is murderous)._

Start writing reviews!  
You're typing today!  
You want to read a part of it,  
Fan Fic, Fan Fic!

Those nimble fingers  
Are longing to type  
And make a new review of it,  
Fan Fic, Fan Fic!

You want to wake up and find a new chapter  
To find it's up already, top of the heap  
All you have to do  
Is type and review

She'll start working on it  
In old Fan Fic  
And all she needs is you  
To start writing reviews  
It's up to you,  
Fan Fic, Fan Fic.

I know that it seems like she screwed me over  
But before you make a choice, and start to hate her  
Give Cameron a chance  
She had an excuse

_Singing abruptly stops_

**House: "To hell she –"**

_(I start typing furiously on my keyboard, and suddenly House shuts up and the song continues)_

You'll discover it soon  
So please review today  
It's up to you,  
Fan Fic, Fan Fic!

_Song Stops and House glares._

**House: "I'm suing for defamation of character."**


	7. Try Fathering Him

DEDICATION: For GabbyAbby.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters from House, although it sure is fun to take them hostage and force them to do my bidding. Mwahahahaha!

* * *

_The toddler ran on shaky legs through the house, anxious to get to the source of his father's newly arrived voice. The Lieutenant (at the time not yet a Major) had been away for over a week, and the small boy was eager to see him. "Dada!" he cried as his father came into sight._

_Despite the little boy's cry, the Lieutenant continued to talk to his wife, ignoring the child who had just come running into the room to see him. It was only when the toddler tripped and fell, his tiny knees coming into contact with the carpet, that the man noticed his son. Unfortunately, even carpet can have a negative impact on little knees when landed on in just the right way. "Dada!" the little boy cried, lifting his arms into the air as tears threatened to spill from his tiny eyes and sobs wracked his little body._

_The Lieutenant rubbed his temples. "Can you quiet him down, Blythe?" he asked tiredly. "I've got a splitting headache." With that, he walked out of the room, leaving the child to watch him go as tears fell down his small round cheeks and his arms lingered in the air._

* * *

House was grateful when Monday morning finally rolled around. His visit with Cameron and the kid had taken place the previous Tuesday night. For the rest of the week, he'd been snappish and moody, attempting to drown out the thoughts clouding his mind through tackling the case of the six-year old. Unfortunately, the kid had been released toward the end of the week. To make matters worse, Cameron had brought Jake back on Friday, and he had been given such a clean bill of health that she had been allowed to enroll him in the hospital's nursery program.

When Friday afternoon came around, House had been more than eager to get home and away from the mess that his life had become. Unfortunately, all weekend his mind had overflowed with unwelcome memories and unbidden thoughts. Even his sleep was plagued with small voices which cried out for "Dada" and little arms that wanted nothing more than to be held. Nothing worked, either. He'd tried banging a discord of melodies out on his piano, downing two more bottles of scotch, and had even finished half a bottle of vicodin. Twice, he'd found himself skirting the increasingly familiar streets to Cameron's condo. And the night before, he'd actually parked outside on his bike (under a much shadier tree) and begun to memorize the house's elusive pattern of shadows and lights. It was only when his cell phone had begun to ring, and he'd noticed that the caller was none other than the stubborn immunologist, that he'd taken off for home.

In short, he was losing it. He was exhausted. And his leg was killing him.

He'd never been more thankful to get to the safety of his office. But when he stepped inside, he came to an abrupt stop and raised his eyebrows. "Oncology lounge too full?" he asked, popping a vicodin.

Wilson ignored the quip and shoved a file into House's hand. "Scott Erikson is back," he said, referring to the six-year old House had diagnosed and sent home four days prior. His face was lined with seriousness.

House furrowed his brow. "Don't they usually stay gone once you cure them?" he queried, flipping open the file and leafing through it.

"Once you cure them, yes," Wilson replied. "Clearly you didn't cure Scott."

But House ignored the comment, instead focusing on a particular page of the patient's chart. "He's suffering from pulmonary edema and seizures," he stated skeptically, looking at the child's latest readings. "Those aren't symptomatic of severe pneumonia." His face began to clench as he poured through the remaining documents and the puzzle became more and more obscure. How the hell had he misdiagnosed this?

Suddenly, the door swung open and Foreman and Chase entered, each carrying identical coffee cups. "Good, Scooby and Shaggy," House greeted them, pushing the file in their direction. "We have a patient."

Foreman grabbed the folder and began leafing through it himself, his mouth turning downward in a frown.

"Didn't we just release this kid four days ago?" Chase asked, looking over Foreman's shoulder at the chart.

"Yeah, funny thing about that," House replied, stepping up to his whiteboard. "If you don't get the diagnosis right, they just keep coming back. It's a vicious circle." He grabbed a black marker and began to write:_ high fever, rhinorreah, cough, nausea, sweats, severe weakness, pulmonary edema and seizures_. "Okay," he said when he was through. "The first six symptoms _(he pointed at them with the marker) _were present the last time he was here. We thought severe pneumonia, he responded to the meds, we sent him home. He shows up with these last two_ (he moved the marker to point at these) _early this morning. What's changed?"

"We gave him the pneumonia medicine," Foreman suggested. "It could have had a negative effect."

House wrote _pnemonia meds _on the board and placed a question mark directly after. "What else?" he prodded.

"Time," Chase spoke up. "Maybe it just took awhile for these latest symptoms to present themselves."

"You think?" House retorted, but _time_ went up on the board followed by its own question mark. "Anything else?" When no one spoke up, he placed his forefingers on his forehead and frowned at the board. "What could this be?" he thought out loud.

"Lupus?" Suggested Chase. "It would explain the severe weakness, high fever, and possibly the pulmonary edema."

"What about the rest of the symptoms?" House queried. "Should I just cross them out?"

Chase shrugged noncomitally and continued staring at the symptoms in concentration. Meanwhile, House considered for a moment and then _lupus_ was added to the board followed by a new question mark.

Foreman interjected next. "It could be Wegener's" he said, studying the symptoms.

"In a six-year old?" House scoffed.

"You like far-fetched ideas," Foreman pointed out, not backing down from his suggestion.

House rolled his eyes, but wrote _Wegener's_ on the board anyway, along with a fourth question mark."Too many questions," House stated, disgruntled. "Any other ideas?"

"How about acute renal failure?" Wilson said next, frowning in thought. "If it isn't treated in time, it can lead to uremia."

House sighed. "Well, it's better than what tweedle dee and tweedle dum came up with," he said, not at all satisfied. But it was the best they had to go on at the moment. "Okay. Foreman, give the kid a lumbar puncture. Rule out any infections. Chase, I want you to redo the blood work and start testing for all of the above, and anything else you can come up with. Let's find out what this elusive disease is."

The two fellows rose from their chairs and headed quickly to the door, both wondering for the hundredth time why exactly they had renewed their fellowships for an additional three years. Meanwhile, House stood staring at the whiteboard, his mind flashing through each of thousands of possibilities. He hated being shown up by a disease, and he was damn well going to figure out what this one was. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he barely noticed that Wilson was still there, thumbing through a medical text.

When his phone began to ring, House answered it absent-mindedly, still staring at the symptoms on the board and scratching his jaw with the nub of the marker. "Hello?"

"Is this Dr. House?" came an unfamiliar female voice.

"No," House said. "It's his assistant, Dr. Wilson." (Behind him, Wilson rolled his eyes.)

"Well, could you inform Dr. House that there's an emergency with his son in the nursery?" _(House suddenly jerked to attention, the muscles in his neck visibly tensing.)_ "We need him here immediately."

"What's the emergency?" House asked, a hint of alarm in his otherwise level tone. Meanwhile, Wilson had looked up from his medical text, concern etching itself across his face.

"He's not –" But the woman was cut off when a loud noise sounded on her end of the line. "I'm sorry, I have to go," she said in a rush. And then she hung up the phone.

House stared at his cell in consternation for several seconds before pocketing it and placing the marker back on the whiteboard's metal ledge.

"What's the emergency?" Wilson echoed, his medical text forgotten.

"No idea," House shrugged as he turned and began striding toward the door. "Something about Cameron's son and the nursery."

Wilson furrowed his brow. "They didn't say what it was?" he called after his retreating friend's back.

"Nope," House called, opening the door and leaving the room.

Not satisfied with the response, Wilson followed his friend out the door. "You're worried," he stated, striding up alongside House as the latter moved briskly down the hallway.

"You're annoying," House returned, not slowing his pace.

"Admit it," Wilson prodded, glancing at his fellow doctor out of the corner of his eye. "You care about the kid."

"Are you still here?" House asked, stopping at the elevator and punching the down button three times successively. "What, did I forget to pay my dues to the stalker patrol?"

Wilson rolled his eyes and stepped into the elevator behind the exasperating doctor. "You know, there is a limit to the amount of sarcasm you're allowed to use to cover your bleeding heart," he stated, leaning against the elevator wall.

"You know, there is a limit as to the amount of annoying you're allowed to be before I find a creative new use for my cane," House retorted. The elevator doors opened and he stepped out onto the second floor, maneuvering quickly past the nurse's station and down the hall.

Wilson rolled his eyes and once again fell into step with his friend. "You're cracking," he stated. "Admit it. It's the first step on the way to recovery."

"And what's the second?" House asked. "Whacking you over the head with my cane?"

"No, that would be forgiveness," Wilson replied, turning the corner and sidestepping an intern as he attempted to keep up with House.

"I liked mine better," House replied before stepping into the nursery with Wilson right behind him. Yup, he'd definitely have to make good on those stalker patrol dues. In the meantime, he looked from left to right in an attempt to find the person in charge, or at least some sign of the alleged emergency. Suddenly, the knots in his stomach tightened as he became aware that something was horribly wrong.

In every corner children were either crying, walking about in a daze, or else pulling on the legs of one of about five adults scattered throughout the room. And in the midst of it all, running on shaky toddler legs, screaming at the top of his lungs . . . pulling things from shelves and throwing blocks and erector sets . . . making other children cry . . . was the kid. And he was completely, one-hundred percent stark naked.

House stared at the scene, quickly grabbing his bottle of painkillers and throwing back two life-saving pills. Then, before anyone could notice his presence, he began slowly and deliberately backing toward the door. But it was of no use. Because suddenly, without warning, Jake noticed that a familiar face had entered his chaotic, unfamiliar new world. And before House could do a thing, the little boy ran up and attached himself to his father's leg. "Dada!" he cried, looking up at the disgruntled man with a big grin. Beside him, Wilson guffawed with laughter.

"Thank God!" came a voice that sounded quite weary and irked. House was too busy looking with annoyance at the young boy attached to his leg, or he might have noticed that the voice emerged from an incredibly tired looking woman with grey hair and green eyes. "You're Jake's father?"

"No," House replied, shaking his leg. When the kid refused to let go, he glared at the toddler and elaborated, "I've just been taken hostage."

"He's the dad," Wilson confirmed as he stepped up beside House, a merciless smirk spreading across his highly amused face. House redirected his glare to his best friend.

Then, as if the woman needed further proof, Jake once again cried, "Dada!" and lifted his arms into the air. "Dada hold?"

Meanwhile, House was fighting an internal battle. If he could read the minds of children, he would have known that Jake's first morning in pre-school had not gone too well, and the little boy was eager to reenter the world of familiarity. Instead, he sighed and tried to suppress the unwelcome amusement that was beginning to arise within him as he looked down into his own blue eyes. He was somewhat successful, trading in this amusement for mild irritation. Forcing himself to ignore the pleading look in the child's eyes (which was much harder than it should have been, damn it), he reached down to untangle the kid from his leg and took several steps toward the door. "Call his mother," he told the woman, ignoring the pouting frown that had emerged upon his son's face. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled to do your bidding."

A heavy sigh escaped Wilson's disapproving lips, while the woman took on a stern look. "My assistant already tried that," she replied. "When we explained the situation to Dr. Cameron, she told us that she was incredibly busy with meetings and that we should call you."

House exhaled and closed his eyes as the annoyance came on full force. So Cameron had been the one to maneuver this little situation. Did she really think challenging him was going to force him into acceptance? He'd thought she was smarter than that. "What do you expect me to do?" he snapped. "You're the baby-sitter. Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't you take this kid," he pointed his finger at Jake (who was looking uncertainly from his father to his nursery school teacher), "And sit on him?" He scanned the woman from head to foot. "Not too hard, though. Wouldn't want any premature death suits." ("House!" Wilson remonstrated.)

The teacher pursed her lips. "I'm afraid he's going to have to leave for the day. He's upset the other children too much." At this point, one of those other children came running up to the woman and started pulling on her skirt. "Not now, Gabby," she said, and directed the little girl back into the heart of the nursery. Gabby shot a bewildered look at the strange man with the cane (who was glaring at her), then scuttled off. Nearby, Wilson shook his head in exasperation.

House ignored his friend and resumed the discussion. "And we wouldn't want mommy and daddy to think that you weren't capable of handling one little toddler, would we?" he drawled, his irritation growing. Cameron sucked at finding baby-sitters. Period.

The woman glared. "I handle the children fine," she said. "But your son is willful and defiant."

House narrowed his eyes. "And you're fat and ugly," he returned. "But you don't see me complaining." _(Wilson buried his head in his hand.)_

The woman's own eyes flashed. "You'll have to take him," she stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

House looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. "And do what?" he asked. "Give him a stethoscope and have him treat patients?"

At this point, Wilson decided to interject. "Can you at least re-clothe him?" he asked, ignoring the pointed look House directed his way. He could recognize the early signs of psychosis that came from dealing with a House – even one who wasn't yet two. And he knew that it would be best for all involved to just follow the request.

"Fine," the woman replied, then swept away presumably to get the child's clothing.

"Have you lost your mind?" House glowered at Wilson, then sighed as the kid reattached himself to his father's leg _("Juicey?")_. "What the hell am I supposed to do with him?"

Wilson fixed House with exasperated, steely eyes. "Why don't you try fathering him?" he suggested.

"Why don't you try minding your own business?" House returned before taking his cell phone out of his pocket and flipping it open. He tried to ignore the stare the kid was sending in his direction. It wasn't easy.

"What are you doing?" Wilson asked.

But House ignored him. Instead, he punched in several buttons on his phone, then placed the cell to his ear.

The call was answered on the first ring. "Everything okay?" came Cameron's cheerful, yet hesitant voice on the other line. House couldn't see it, but she was nervously twisting her long brown hair around the index finger of her left hand.

"Peachy," House drawled, ignoring the rush of emotions that coursed throughout his gut at the sound of her voice. Damn her. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

"Of course not," she replied, a bit defensively. House didn't know it, but she was on tenterhooks.

"Then why exactly do I have a naked kid hanging onto my leg?" he beseeched. Once again, House tried to shake said kid off his leg._ ("Juicey?" was the response, leaving House to exhale in resignation.)_

Cameron sighed. "If you're not capable of handling your own son," she said, pointedly emphasizing the last part of her remark, "Then leave him there and I'll come get him."

House pursed his lips. "I'm not leaving an innocent kid with the likes of Medusa," he shot, glaring at the receiver.

"Then take him to your office, and I'll pick him up there," Cameron snapped, the frustration evident in her voice.

House narrowed his eyes. "Listen, you –" But he didn't get to finish, because Cameron had hung up on him. House glowered at the receiver for several moments, then pocketed it and looked back down at the kid. "What am I supposed to do with you?" he asked him.

The child's eyes grew wide and he detached his arms from his father's leg, holding them out by his sides. "Doe know," he said. Then he grinned.

House sighed, feeling himself involuntarily soften (but not too much) at the look on the child's face. Damn Cameron.

At this point, the woman returned and began clothing the child. When she was finished, she put him in his stroller and turned back to House. "You're going to have to leave," she stated. "You're beginning to frighten the other children."

House glared at the incompetent teacher. Before he could say anything, however, Wilson decided to avert further disaster by leading his friend out of the nursery, pushing the stroller along ahead of him.

* * *

_We are suddenly transported from the safety of our computer screens to an unfamiliar back lot. There are about twenty nursery school children running around, bumping into cameras and throwing food into the air. A disgruntled director is attempting to quiet them down. In the corner, we see a naked toddler with wavy brown hair and bright blue eyes. He is throwing a tantrum. As we make our way into the back lot, we become aware that a scene is being filmed._

Me: Lights! Cameron – er, Camera! Action!

_Cameron and Cuddy walk onto the set, but their bearing is strangely unfamiliar._

Cameron: Can you, like, believe that this chick has taken us all hostage?

Cuddy: Like, I know! You'd think she'd have a life or something!

Cameron: Totally! Like, did you hear that there's, like, one thing that'll make her let us all go?

Cuddy:_ (dons wide-eyed valley girl stare)_ For real? Like, what?

Cameron: For sure! She's all, if they, like, review, then you guys can go.

Cuddy: _(twisting a strand of hair around her finger) _They so totally have to review. I, like, need to go to the mall. I so totally need new pumps.

Cameron: Me, too! These wardrobe people are so five minutes ago.

Cuddy: Yeah. Like, gag me with a spoon.

Cameron: Totally.

_Camera fades out._

Me: You heard them! Go review!


	8. My Son

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, who put caffeine in my tea? Seriously, I know I said that this was almost ready, but it's so pivotal that I've been quite reluctant to publish it. Also, I've created a bit of a back story for Cameron, and I've been rather worried about how you'd all take to it. However, I am currently awake with a severe case of insomnia, and the story was just calling to me. So here it is. Something you've all been waiting for . . .

DISCLAIMER: Jake belongs to me! Mwahahaha! (However, I am currently involved in negotiations with House and Cameron.)

DEDICATION: This chapter is dedicated to all of you, who have been so faithfully reviewing. It's thanks to you that I have the creative juices to complete these things.

_The 13-year old girl sat on her bed, headphones firmly in place as the music blasted out the sound of the fight below. She wished desperately for her older brother. He'd have known what to do. And even if he hadn't been able to put a stop to this, his just being there would have made her feel so much better. Unfortunately, with Jeff far away at college, her only company was the golden retriever with his head nestled on her lap. Sighing heavily, she absentmindedly rubbed behind the dog's ears and allowed her mind to wander._

_The moment she'd arrived home from school, she'd known something was wrong. Her parents had been sitting on opposite couches, her father staring at the wall in front of him as her mother looked down at her hands. The girl had been surprised to see the tears brimming in her mother's grey eyes. Her mom never cried. In fact, the girl had come to accept that her mom was a master at hiding all emotions. Jeff had once said that this stemmed from her mother's own rocky childhood, but she didn't know much more than that._

"_Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad," she said cheerfully, pasting a fake smile onto her face._

"_Hi, Allie," her father replied, fixing her with his own artificial grin. (Her mother continued to stare at her hands.) "How was school?"_

"_Fine," the girl told him, then glanced curiously at her mom. _

"_Mom?" she asked gently, her brow furrowed. "Is everything okay?" The question made the girl a bit uncomfortable, as she was unused to addressing her mother in such a manner. The two had always had a businesslike relationship, if anything. Her mom would ensure that she was fed and clothed, and the girl would ensure that she would do as she was told. Nevertheless, she couldn't stand to see her mom look so sad._

_Startled by the question, the woman raised her gaze and locked eyes with her daughter. "I'm fine," she whispered, and the girl could swear she saw an expression of gratefulness waft across her mother's face. It wasn't something she was used to seeing, and it caused her smile to become genuine._

"_Okay," the girl replied, her brow still creased._

"_Listen, Princess," her father said, jarring the girl from her concern over her mother. "Your mom and I really need to talk. Why don't you go on upstairs to your room?"_

"_Sure," the girl replied, shooting her dad a puzzled look. What could cause her mom to act so out of character, and her dad to be so serious?_

_She got her answer almost immediately. The moment her door had closed, the yelling began. After several minutes, the girl was able to discern the words 'asshole,' 'divorced,' and 'cheated,' all sounding in her mother's voice. Suddenly, she put two and two together and her eyes went wide. Her father had cheated on her mother. She felt as if her insides had been frozen. She had known they'd had their problems, but . . . How could he have cheated on her? Her dad, who she loved so much? Who had always been there whenever she'd had a problem? It couldn't be possible. But why would her mom say it if it weren't true? _

_At this point, she couldn't take it anymore. Donning her headphones, she attempted to drown out the fight._

_About an hour later, her door opened and her father stepped into her room sporting the same artificial smile he had worn downstairs._

_At first the girl didn't want to take off her headphones. Finally, however, she forced herself to do so. Placing her hands back onto the comforting coat of her dog, she stared at the floor and quietly asked: "Are you going away?"_

_Her father sighed. "I'm afraid so, kiddo," he said, taking a seat on her bed. "Your mother and I . . . we just aren't getting along."_

"_I know," the girl whispered. Then, a bit of an accusatory tone entering her voice: "You cheated on her."_

_The man took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. Finally, he responded with: "You know you can come visit me any time."_

"_Right," the girl replied, fingering her dog's golden hair. She was fighting an internal battle. She loved her father dearly. But she couldn't get the sorrow in her mother's eyes out of her head._

"_Hey, Princess," her dad placed his finger under her chin, lifting her face so that she was looking at him. "I'm just going to be right downtown. We're still going to do things together."_

_The girl stared at him for a long moment. Finally, despite her inner turmoil, her lips curled into a slight smile. "Promise?"_

"_I promise," her father replied._

_He left shortly thereafter, and within a year her parents divorced. Her father kept his promise. For the next year, the girl visited him on a regular basis, and the two kept up a steady relationship. Unfortunately, with the knowledge of her father's unfaithfulness and the difficulty of living in separate households, the relationship was strained at best. This strain was helped along by the fact that the divorce caused her mother to become disturbingly aloof – a fact which the girl noticed with sadness and anger. And her brother made excuse after excuse to keep from coming home. She knew that he'd made his escape, and he wasn't coming back. _

_So the girl was alone. In truth, this earned her a streak of independence. With no one around to really depend upon, she learned to depend upon herself. But it didn't improve her relationship with her father. By the time she was 15, their visits had all but ceased. The next year, he moved out-of-state. Aside from the occasional birthday card and Christmas gift, she didn't hear from him again until after she'd started college._

_She chose to ignore the pain that this caused her. In fact, angry over what his transgression had done to her family, she told herself that she didn't care._

MDMDMDMD

Cameron walked briskly down the halls, knowing that it would be foolish to press her luck. She briefly wondered what had possessed her to manipulate this situation in the first place. To expose her little boy to the ticking time bomb that was his father. But then thoughts of the previous week came flooding back to her, and she sighed in frustration. If House didn't fold soon, she wasn't sure what she was going to do. And Jake deserved a father.

Pausing outside the door to the diagnostic's office, she took a deep breath and prepared to step inside. What she saw, however, made her change her mind.

Jake had just finished rooting through his diaper bag, and was now toddling up to his father, a book in his tiny fist. _('The Velveteen Rabbit,' she thought with fondness.)_ Through the glass, she could just make out the word, "Story," and see her son banging the book against House's good leg. She couldn't help but smirk.

Her expression became serious, however, when House glanced down at the toddler and grabbed the book out of his hand. Was he really going to read to Jake? No, she realized with disappointment. He was turning it over and reading the back to himself instead. Finally, he shot a look in Wilson's direction. "No wonder everybody lies," she heard him state faintly. "They've got books convincing children that damn bunnies can become real."

Cameron rolled her eyes. 'Leave it to House to ruin even a children's book,' she thought as she redirected her gaze to her son.

"Damn bunny!" the child repeated, then began to laugh hysterically.

At this point, the immunologist sighed and decided that she should enter the office before House taught her innocent child any more colorful language. "What are you teaching my son?" she asked, opening the door and stepping inside. _("Mama!" Jake cried, running up to her and attaching himself to _her_ leg. Cameron placed her hand on top of his head.)_

House looked up from the book and fixed Cameron with a steely gaze. "Well, I considered exhibitionism," he replied dryly. "But it looks like you've already got that covered."

"So only the best family values," Cameron retorted, meeting House's steely gaze with her own heated look.

After a moment, Wilson decided that he'd had enough. "I should go," he interjected, heading for the door. "It's good to see you again, Allison."

The statement brought Cameron back to the present, and she broke eye contact with House. "You, too, Wilson," she replied, smiling at the oncologist as he headed out the door. Then, deciding she'd rather ignore her stubborn ass of an ex-boss, she turned her attention to Jake.

"Hey, buddy," Cameron said warmly, running her fingers through his soft curly hair. "Mommy has to work late tonight. You ready to go home and meet your new sitter?"

House's eyes narrowed. "You're exposing the kid to another baby-sitter?" he asked sharply. "Are you trying to kill him before his second birthday?"

Visibly tensing, Cameron shot him an exasperated look. "Right. Because I just go out onto the streets and find Jake's next sitters," she returned.

"You might as well," House replied. "So far you've exposed him to an infectious disease and Evil Incarnate. Is there a special place you go to find these people, or do you just get lucky?"

Cameron pursed her lips, annoyed. "If you don't like the sitters I find," she replied smoothly, crossing her arms over her chest, "then why don't you come over and baby-sit him yourself?"

House blinked at this unexpected response. "I would," he said lamely, "but I've already scheduled the hooker for tonight."

Cameron shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Come on, honey," she said, turning back to her son. "Let's get going."

"So that's it?" House asked, watching her strap the kid into his stroller. "You're just going to put him in the hands of another sitter?"

"Unless the working girl wants to baby-sit," she retorted, turning the stroller toward the door. "But then he hasn't had his rabies shot." She paused, considering whether to say anything else. Finally, she settled on: "Good night, House," and stepped out of the office, pushing Jake's stroller ahead of her.

House stared after them as they left the room.

MDMDMDMD

_The moment the conference had ended, the irate doctor pushed himself out of his chair and quickly hobbled past his executioners and out of the room._

"_House, wait!" Cameron called, running up to him._

"_Go away," he said, his jaw working furiously._

_Cameron sighed and briefly closed her eyes, allowing him to move a couple steps down the hall without her. Soon, however, her resolve caught up to her and she once again fell into step beside her boss. "House, I'm sorry. But what was I supposed to do? You were unconscious on the floor!"_

"_I don't know," House replied, his expression livid. "It's a shame you aren't a doctor."_

"_That's not fair."_

_No, it wasn't. But at the moment, he didn't give a damn. "I'll tell you what's not fair," he said, wheeling around on her. "What's not fair is this damn pain in my leg. What's not fair is that you people can't take a god damned hint. You keep picking and prodding, expecting me to crack. Become all warm and fuzzy, admit that I need someone to love me. That my leg pain is just in my mind," These last two sentences were spoken with sarcastic burlesque, but the next was spoken with utter finality and House's eyes flashed with their meaning. "You're. Wasting. Your. Time."_

_Cameron opened her mouth, perhaps to respond, perhaps simply to gape. Whatever the case, she didn't get a chance. Because the moment House was done delivering his monologue, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the hospital, and she was left to stare after him in consternation and shock._

MDMDMDMD

Five minutes after Cameron left his office, House had grabbed his tennis ball and begun bouncing it in a steady rhythm, creating a muffled staccato beat against the carpet. Ten minutes after that, he'd begun to pace around the room, the muffled beat transferring from the ball to his shoes. Twenty minutes later, he'd grabbed his helmet from the floor by his desk and quickly left the office. Now, two hours afterwards, he found himself in an increasingly familiar position. He was straddling his bike, parked at the edge of a park . . . and staring at the newly rented condo. It was 7:30.

House sighed and pulled his keys from the ignition. If he was going to do this, he wanted to get it over with. Throwing back two vicodin, he swung his leg over the bike, popped his cane from its holder, and started across the street.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked, opening the door. At first glance, she looked fine. Wearing a pullover sweater and faded jeans, she appeared to be a graduate student. The previously unacknowledged knots began to disintegrate in the pit of House's stomach, and the lines disappeared from his forehead. Maybe Cameron had gotten lucky after all. He was about to make up an excuse about knocking on the wrong door when the woman wrinkled her nose and let out a horrendous sneeze. "Sorry," she said, rubbing her nose with her hand. _(House narrowed his eyes.)_ "By allergies are killing be." With that, she leaned forward in a sneezing fit.

A petulant smile spread across House's face. "Your shift's over," he said, stepping past her into the house.

"Excuse be?" the woman asked, once again rubbing her nose with her hand. This at least seemed to clear up her nasal cavities, and she began to talk normally again. "Who are you? The owner's not here, so I really can't –"

"I'm from the Center for Disease Control," House replied. "There've been complaints that you're exposing small children to infectious diseases."

"What?" A look of concerned confusion entered the woman's eyes. "Did Johnny put you up to this? Because –"

"It would be best for all involved if you just leave," House broke in. "Wouldn't want to break out the handcuffs or anything." He paused and looked the woman from head to foot. "Or maybe I would, but now really isn't the best time. Feel free to leave your name and number, though."

"Excuse me!" the woman cried, affronted. "Look, you're going to have to le –"

But she didn't get to finish her sentence, because suddenly a loud thump sounded from far into the condo. "Where's the kid?" House asked, already heading toward the noise.

The woman followed quickly after him. "I put him to bed," she said worriedly, just before a loud wail began to emanate from the child's bedroom.

"Apparently you didn't do a very good job," House snapped, throwing open the door to the room and walking inside. It took him a moment to figure out exactly where the cry was coming from. Finally, however, his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room and he saw the small figure curled up on the floor, clutching his tiny head. A blanket led from the top of his crib to his small ankle. House's eyebrows arched in mild shock. Had the child actually dived head-first out of his crib? What on earth would possess him to do something like that? And then he got his answer.

"Dada!" the little boy cried piteously, lifting his arms into the air. "Dada!"

Upon hearing the word 'Dada,' the woman relaxed a little. On the other hand, House tensed noticeably. He stared at the little boy, a dozen emotions playing themselves out on his face. What was he supposed to do? He didn't have experience with kids . . . well, unless you counted pulling fire trucks out of noses and scaring them senseless. But here was this little boy, cradling his small head in his hands and lying helplessly on the ground, crying out for _him_. Finally, after several seconds and many more cries of 'Dada,' he did the only thing he could think of. Swallowing hard, he leaned down and scooped the small child off the floor. Still, his entire body remained rigid as an internal battle waged itself in his mind. But then a strange thing happened. The child wrapped his arms around his father's neck and rested his head against House's shoulder. Suddenly, and for some reason unbeknownst to House, an unidentifiable warmness began to seep into his chest and he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath in order to steady himself. "It's okay," the shell shocked doctor whispered, subconsciously moving his hand to rub it awkwardly against the little boy's back.

"Um, excuse me," the woman interjected, stepping in front of House.

The interruption jarred House back to the present, and his eyes flew open as he fixed the woman with a calloused look. "You can go now," he stated.

"But I'm supposed to –"

"Annoy the hell out of me and hurt my son?" House interrupted. He knew the accusation was unfair, but the rush of emotions currently coursing throughout his gut mandated a definite indifference to the truth. "Congratulations, you've finished the job."

"I didn't hurt him!" The woman cried, a look of shock flitting across her features.

Okay, maybe not. But she was definitely annoying. And she had 'infectious disease carrier' stamped all over her. Which was why the next words out of House's mouth were an ultimatum. "You have five seconds," he stated, looking at her pointedly.

"But –"

"Five. Four. Three."

The woman shot him a disgusted look. "I don't get paid enough for this," she grumbled before turning around and quickly walking out of the room. A minute later, the sound and reverberation of a slamming door told House that she had left.

He turned his attention back to the child cradled in his arms, now fast on the way to sleep. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to put the boy back into his crib. So, after quickly scouring the small head for any serious bumps or bruises, he hobbled to the rocking chair taking up residence in the corner of the room and took a seat. When the child shifted position, House leaned back in the chair and attempted to make them both as comfortable as possible. Soon afterward, the exhaustion from the previous two weeks caught up with him and he, too, fell asleep.

He was still sleeping when Cameron returned several hours later, completely perplexed as to why she couldn't find her baby-sitter. Consequently, he didn't get to see the bittersweet smile that graced her lips as she entered the child's room, nor did he get to see the tears that filled her hazel eyes at the sight of her small son being loved by the father he so desperately deserved. It was only when she placed a blanket over the pair that he awoke and blinked in confusion. It took a moment for him to realize that the weight in his arms was the child, and that his back was stiff from sitting in the rocking chair for so long. And then he saw Cameron.

"Hey," he said gruffly, gazing at her with tired eyes.

"Hey," she replied, a small smile playing along her lips as she attempted to ignore the feelings that were coursing through _her_ body at the sight of House cradling her son. "What happened to the baby-sitter?"

House shrugged (an act made harder by the limited use of his arms). "I took one look at her and thought she might have malaria, so I sent her home," he replied nonchalantly.

Cameron couldn't help but roll her eyes. "How could I have missed that?" she retorted, and a look of guarded affection found its way upon her face as she gazed down at the man in front of her.

It wasn't lost on House. Suddenly uncomfortable, he shifted position and hesitantly handed the kid to Cameron. "I should get going," he said, pushing himself out of the chair after she had taken the boy. _(Jake shifted slightly but remained fast asleep.)_

"It is late," Cameron agreed, knowing that he would need his space now more than ever. She adjusted her balance so that she could wrap her arms tightly around her son.

House nodded, then glanced at the child and an unbidden smile fell upon his lips. "He's a terror," he stated, inclining his chin toward the toddler.

"Must be in the genes," Cameron replied, glossing over the statement as a wistful hue found itself upon her lips.

House scoffed. "Must be your side." The statement, made in playfulness and without thinking, caused the two to gaze at each other for a long moment, a slew of emotions reflected in their eyes. Humor. Sadness. And . . . longing? Finally, House cleared his throat in discomfort and said: "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Right," Cameron replied, still cradling her child. "Tomorrow . . . Good night, House."

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he gazed at the child, cradled in his mother's arms. "Good night," he finally said. And then he was walking quickly through the condo and stepping out into the cool night air, where a sigh of relief escaped his lips.

MDMDMDMD

_We are once again transported to a television studio, but this time we appear to be skirting along the halls of a makeshift hospital. Camera pans in on a steady shot of a rabbit hopping along the hallway, while several nurses, doctors, and patients all stare. The rabbit comes to a stop in front of a glass door._

_Camera pans to a shot of a man with a scrubby beard and electric blue eyes. The man is smiling in appreciation as he looks closely at what appears to be the 'New Jersey Journal of Cardiology.' The journal is rotated so that the man is viewing it lengthwise. He lets out a low whistle as he examines the centerpiece. Suddenly, the man is distracted when the door to his office opens. In hops the rabbit._

_The man stares at the rabbit for several long moments, while the rabbit stares at the man. Finally, they speak._

Rabbit: He _is_ real!

Man: He _is_ real!

_Both faint dead away. Suddenly, a woman with short brown hair and serious eyes steps over both bodies. Oh, wait! That's me. And I have a microphone._

Me: We interrupt this broadcast of an incredibly lame remake of the old M&M's commercial to bring you this news. Recent reports of hostage situations have reached the desk of Writer's Anonymous. It appears that a rather witty and intelligent writer . . . Hey, that wasn't in the original script! How did that get there? _(I clear my throat) _ Sorry. It appears that the entire cast of the hit T.V. show 'House' have been taken hostage by a writer who states that she is "determined to have her wicked way with them." At this point in time, the writer is engaged in negotiation talks with officials. Apparently, she's delivered this ultimatum. If readers review, she'll consider letting the hostages go. Did you get that? If readers review, she will consider letting the hostages go. It is unsure whether this ultimatum will be met. Stay tuned for further details.

_I smile toothily at the camera for a moment before it fades to black._

_Scene._


	9. Stockholm Syndrome

Author's Note: Thanks again to all my wonderful reviewers. You all are like my own personal vicodin.;-) Also, just in case you didn't know -- Stockholm Syndrome is something experienced by hostages when they begin to bond with their captors. You'll understand why I'm telling you this later.

DEDICATION: This chapter is dedicated to the housecameron community over at LJ, whose members have provided me with endless entertainment and good company in the midst of an incredibly tumultuous semester. Thank you fellow shippers!

MDMDMDMD

After leaving Cameron's, House had gotten on his motorcycle and headed for home. As had become true in the days since she'd reentered his life, however, things never happened the way he planned. So it was no surprise that at 5 am, he was still skirting the streets of Princeton on the wheels of his bike. He'd stopped twice, once to enjoy the solitude of Central Mercer County Park, and more recently to get a cup of coffee and refill his gas tank. But nothing he did silenced the damn thoughts that kept circling in his mind. If he was completely honest with himself – which he was loathe to be – he knew that this couldn't keep happening. Something was going to have to change. Either Cameron was going to have to leave him in peace, or . . . he wasn't sure yet. He worked his jaw, his deep dislike for this uncertainty tightening itself in his gut. Perhaps it was this more than anything that led him to Wilson's doorstep at 5:12 in the morning.

After House had held his finger directly to the bell for about three minutes, a very rumpled Wilson answered the door. "House?" he said in tired disbelief. Then, a little more awake and definitely more annoyed: "Come on in," as House pushed past his friend and entered the abode. "You do realize that it's 5 in the morning, right?" he asked, yawning. He followed the diagnostician into his kitchen and took a seat in a chair at the dining room table.

"I thought you were a morning person, Jimmy," House replied, taking a sip of his lukewarm coffee and rifling through his pal's refrigerator. It was surprisingly empty for a chef connosieur. "Geez, when was the last time you went shopping?"

"I wasn't expecting company," Wilson responded dryly, watching in annoyed amusement as House took apart his food supply.

"What?" House asked, glancing over his shoulder and arching a brow. "No new nurses to keep your bed warm?"

Wilson rolled his eyes, but chose to move onto another topic. Such as: "Why are you here?"

House turned away from the refrigerator and shrugged, although he didn't quite meet the other man's eyes. "I was bored," he said, taking a bite out of an apple that he'd managed to procure.

"Uh-huh," Wilson said, not buying it. "And?"

"What?" House retorted in a too chipper tone, speaking around his bite of apple. "I need an excuse to come visit my best bud?"

Despite the early hour of the morning, Wilson was now wide awake. House was hiding something. He smiled knowingly. "How's Jake?"

House's pseudo-cheerful eyes suddenly became clouded. "Cameron has the worst taste in baby-sitters," he replied, taking another bite of his treat.

It was Wilson's turn to arch a brow. "And you're basing this on . . .?" he wheedled, sensing that it was something more than yesterday's incident with 'Medusa.'

But House didn't answer. Instead, he turned back toward Wilson's kitchen counter and began rummaging through his cabinets. "Where's your coffee?" he asked. His lukewarm gas station blend was no longer doing it for him.

Wilson sighed and pushed himself out of his chair. "Did I forget to take the restaurant sign out of my window?" he groused, stepping up to the cabinets and taking out his stash of grounds.

"I thought your kitchen was always open to me, Jimmy," House replied, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms as he took another bite of his apple.

"It's not," Wilson stated, flipping the switch on the coffee pot.

House paused, considering. Then: "She almost killed him," he grumbled.

Wilson furrowed his brow and turned toward the disgruntled doctor. "Who?" he asked, his interest piqued.

"The damn baby-sitter," he clarified, tossing the apple core into the trash can. "She almost killed him."

Wilson's eyes narrowed in concern. "Jake? What happened?"

"I went to Cameron's last night," House stated, staring hard at the ground as he stifled the rush of emotions that flooded him at the thought of the previous evening's events. "Her baby-sitter was diseased, so I sent her home. But before she left, the kid fell on his head."

"She dropped him?" Wilson queried, perplexed. He was having a hard time getting past the part where House had gone to Cameron's.

"He fell out of his crib," House elucidated, his jaw working as he gritted his teeth.

Wilson threw back his head in confusion, fixing House with bewildered eyes. "Let me get this straight," he tried, backpedaling through what House had told him. "You went to Cameron's. Her sitter was . . . not healthy. So you sent her home," he paused. "Was she blind?"

"No," House grumbled. "Why?"

"Okay. So apparently Cameron hired a very flaky sitter that somehow saw fit to leave a baby with you." House jerked his attention to Wilson, fixing his friend with an annoyed glare. "And then you . . . what? You _baby-sat_?"

"Someone had to watch the kid," House mumbled, lowering his eyes to the ground and once again piercing it with a hard stare.

"I don't believe this!" Wilson crowed, his face suddenly the picture of humorous delight. "You baby-sat your son." He grinned at his friend. "Good for you."

"What's so good about it?" House grumbled, turning toward the cabinet and grabbing a coffee cup. If he'd known Wilson would act like this, he'd have gone to the local Denny's.

"You're cracking," Wilson stated simply, pouring some coffee into House's cup.

"I've got Stockholm Syndrome," House returned, glaring at his friend.

"You care about your son," Wilson supplied, pouring coffee into his own cup. He wasn't going to let House brush this to the side.

"I've been browbeaten," House whined, taking a sip of his coffee. At least Wilson's brew was better than his company.

"You care," Wilson repeated firmly, sipping his own drink. "Admit it."

"Why?" House shot back.

"We've been over this," Wilson replied. "It's the first step."

"Didn't the second involve me whacking you over the head with my cane?" House asked.

But Wilson just grinned and took a sip of his coffee.

MDMDMDMD

_Sighing in relief, Cameron entered the security of the clinic. Over the course of the past month – ever since she and House had started this _thing_ – she had found herself increasingly anxious to be away from the diagnostic's department. It wasn't that it was weird being there without him, although it was. It was that she was certain that she was going to make some mistake, some minute yet monumental error, that alerted either Chase or (more likely) Foreman to her indiscretions with their boss. And this was something that she wasn't ready to handle. She didn't even know where their relationship – if it could be called a relationship – was headed. True, she'd begun to go to his house almost every night after work. And they'd even had a handful of actual conversations. But she knew that he was battling through this downward spiral that he seemed intent on traversing, and she had a hard enough time breaking through his defenses. They weren't ready to talk relationship. And, she had to admit, the very idea scared her senseless. But that wasn't something _she_ was ready to think about yet. Which was why she had been extra careful to keep her transgressions from her colleagues. And why she was so eager to take on clinic duty in order to get away from the confines of the diagnostic's office._

_Unfortunately, it seemed that fate had other plans for her. Just as she was walking toward Exam Room Two, the very object of her thoughts came stepping out a door to her right. The Physical Therapy Office._

"_House!" she exlaimed in surprise, the tell tale thump of her heart sounding in her chest._

_For a split second, House looked surprised and – happy? – to see her. Soon, however, his expression clouded over and his voice gave no traces of his inner feelings. "Cameron," he nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. "I see Cuddy's given you my clinic duty."_

"_I volunteered," she admitted, smiling self-deprecatingly._

"_How noble of you," he snarked, an attempt to cover the discomfort brought about by her sudden appearance. "I thought Chase was the suck up."_

"_He was busy," Cameron replied dryly, her eyes narrowing as they delivered a spark of annoyance in his direction. _

"_Washing his hair no doubt," House quipped, briefly meeting her eyes before redirecting his gaze to the top of her head. "I should get going," he said._

"_Right," Cameron responded, a little relieved. Then, as if she couldn't help herself, she leaned a little closer and in a voice so low it was barely audible, she whispered: "I'll see you after work."_

_House paused, considering, but then nodded. "I'll see you," he echoed, and then quickly started for the front doors._

_Cameron was too busy watching him leave to notice the physical therapist emerge from his office, stuffing what appeared to be a wad of green paper into his wallet._

MDMDMDMD

House hobbled down the hallway, intent on getting to his office without having to actually talk to anyone. After he'd left Wilson's, he'd come to the hospital to check on his latest puzzle of a patient. They'd tentatively diagnosed him with a complicated case of erythema infectiosum (slap-cheek syndrome), and started him on cocktail that should defuse the problem. Thus far, he seemed to be reacting well to his treatment.

Not that this had appealed to his bickering parents, whom House had been unlucky enough to meet earlier that morning. Apparently, they were divorced and had decided to spend most of their time arguing over where Daddy had been during the previous hospitalization. _("You were with _her_ again, weren't you?")_ And while this was at least mildly entertaining, they had chosen to spend the rest of their time annoying the diagnostic's department with their threats to sue the hospital. House had tried to convince them that he was actually a Spanish-speaking orderly _("Me no comprende.")_, but they were having none of it.

So with that nuissance to bear, and the placating notion that the patient was recovering, he had decided to go home and get some much needed sleep. Surprisingly, he'd actually slept well at first . . . and then his sleep had been plagued with dreams, which had in turn been plagued with memories, which had turned his restful sleep entirely rest_less_. Finally, four hours after he'd gone to bed, he had reluctantly headed back to the hospital. Now all he wanted to do was to curl up in his office with his gameboy and try to force away the thoughts (he really was getting sick of them). Not to mention the pain in his leg, which seemed to have gotten much worse as of late.

Unfortunately, his office was not empty.

"You're late," Cuddy chided from her vantage point on the edge of House's desk. When House had left that morning, he'd promised to be back in time for clinic duty. And even though she knew that this situation with Cameron was costing him his sleep, she also knew that if she allowed him to shirk his duty now, she'd have a hell of a time getting him back to it later.

"Dr. Cuddy," House greeted, raising his brows as he walked across the room to take a seat in his chair, then gesturing at her low-cut blouse. "You're looking especially _perky_ today."

Cuddy's lips curled into a crooked grin and she crossed her arms over her chest. "You have clinic duty," she reminded him, ignoring his lewd comment.

House blinked. "I have a patient," he stated innocently, leaning back in his chair.

"Your patient has been diagnosed and is responding to treatment," Cuddy replied.

"Oh, you and your technicalities," House intoned, the corner of his lips curling upward in a smirk. He paused, then continued with: "Of course, I could always use the naptime. You want to join me? I hear Exam Room Three has the _best_ bed."

"That's a shame," Cuddy replied smoothly, pushing herself off the desk and standing over her employee. "Because you're in Exam Room One."

"Okay, but the bed in there isn't nearly as good. Of course, we can always use the counter," he waggled his eyebrows. "Much more kinky."

"House, cut the crap and get down to the clinic," Cuddy ordered, fixing him with a mild glare. "Your shift started over an hour ago."

"Aww, come on, Mommy!" he returned, clasping his hands in front of him in a mock begging gesture. "If I promise to be a good boy, can't I stay up here and watch T.V.?"

"If you promise to be a good boy," Cuddy replied, striding toward the door, "I'll forget that you've missed the first hour and won't make you stay late." She shot him a pointed look, then pushed open the door and stepped outside.

"Killjoy," House muttered, popping a vicodin. Still, a moment later he pushed himself out of his chair and followed his boss. If anything, clinic duty would be a great excuse for a nap. And maybe it would be so mind numbingly boring that the home movies would stop playing themselves in his head.

But apparently life wasn't done torturing him yet. Just as he was getting off the elevator and stepping into the clinic, he heard a small voice cry an increasingly familiar word. _("Dada!")_ House's stomach seemed both to twist and tense at the same time, and he turned his head toward the sound.

Cameron had just entered the hospital lobby, and was pushing the kid in his stroller. When she noticed House, her formerly contented smile changed to reflect a touch of sympathy at his not-well-enough-hidden bewildered appearance. She knew that he was well on his way to accepting their son, but he wasn't nearly ready for unexpected visits.

But Jake was not to be deterred. "Dada!" the little boy cried again, straining in his stroller so that he could reach his arms out toward House.

House stared at the child for a moment, then found himself moving toward the pair as if the movement were out of his control. "Playing hooky?" he asked Cameron, his voice surprisingly even.

"Not exactly," she smirked, and it struck House that there was a quality in her tone that he hadn't heard since she'd returned. "I promised Jake that if he was a good boy in nursery school, I'd take him out for lunch."

"Fwench fwy," Jake added, holding one of the golden sticks out to his father.

House turned toward the boy, and experienced a sudden loosening around his chest as the child looked at him with happy, (loving?) eyes. "Thanks," he said unexpectedly, taking the treat from his son and popping it into his mouth. "Mmmm. Yummy."

Jake laughed hysterically. "Yummy!" he cried, grabbing a fry and stuffing it into his own mouth.

Cameron couldn't help but laugh herself, and House turned back toward her. But when his blue eyes locked with her smiling hazel, thereby causing a prolonged stare, the muscles in his chest immediately tightened as an unexpected prickle ran up his arms. Suddenly uncomfortable, he redirected his line of vision to a spot above her head as his gaze gradually clouded over. "I've got clinic duty," he finally said.

Cameron – herself having fallen victim to a sudden unexpected shiver – sighed and looked at the ground. "I'm taking Jake back to the nursery," she replied.

"So Medusa's taken him back?" House inquired, his lips forming a sneer at the word 'Medusa' as his eyes shifted to Jake.

"Masusa?" Jake asked innocently, looking up at his father.

"Miss Natalie," Cameron corrected him, shooting House a warning look. "She says that if Jake behaves himself, he can stay. And I need him to stay," she said, carefully enunciating this last sentence.

House considered arguing, but knew that it would entail more heated stares from Cameron. So instead, he shrugged and said, "If you want to expose him to Evil Incarnate, that's your decision."

Cameron rolled her eyes, but her next words were serious. "You're right," she said. "It is."

For some reason, the statement didn't sit well with House and he found himself twisting his mouth and staring hard at the floor.

Feeling a little sympathetic, Cameron elaborated. "We haven't had the best luck with baby-sitters," she reminded him. "We need at least one to stick."

For once, House bit his tongue against the wisecrack the was straining at his lips. "Well, I'd better go before Cuddy's cleavage finds me," he said instead, attempting to redirect the topic of conversation.

Again, Cameron rolled her eyes (they seemed to be getting quite a bit of exercise). "I can't believe she hasn't sued you for sexual harassment yet," she said dryly.

"Yeah, well. She spends enough money defending me in court," House replied, smirking.

Cameron laughed. "We'll see you later, House," she told him.

House tucked his lips and nodded. "Yup," he said lamely. He began to leave, but then stopped and turned to Jake (who had been listening intently to their conversation). "Bye," he said seriously.

"Bye-bye," Jake replied, flexing the fingers of his small hand.

House smirked, then quickly began walking toward Exam Room One. Cameron watched him leave as, for some reason, once carefully guarded emotions began to emerge and battle themselves out on her face.

MDMDMDMD

"_Mama swing?" Jake asked hopefully, giving Cameron a big smile._

_Cameron couldn't help but smile back. "Sure, buddy," she said, dropping her hand onto his head and ruffling his chocolate brown locks. When Jake offered her his hand, she took it and led him to the swings. "Do you wanna go high?" Cameron asked him, her smile turning into a grin._

"_High!" Jake cried, delighted at the thought._

"_Okay," Cameron laughed, scooping up her child and buckling him into the swing. "High it is!"_

_The little boy laughed delightedly as his mother pushed him gently in the small swing. "High!" he called out gaily, kicking his tiny feet against the seat._

_Cameron's grin grew wider as she pushed her son just a little bit higher (not too high for a toddler). He was daring for a baby. But then, he was House's son. Suddenly, Cameron's grin faltered and her pushes became a little less enthusiastic. House. How had he wormed his way into her thoughts? _But then_, she thought wistfully, _he always had been good at that_. And even now, almost two years since the last time she had seen him, he still seemed to have the power._

_The wistfulness was just beginning to ebb into her stomach when her phone rang. Giving Jake one last push, she reached into her purse and pulled out her cell. "Hello?" she asked, shaking her head in amusement as her son called out '_High!'_ once again._

"_Allie?" came a very tense-sounding voice._

"_Jeff?" Cameron replied, his tone causing her amusement to wane and her shoulders to tense. "What's wrong?" _

"_Allie," Jeff repeated, and now Cameron could hear dejection mingled with the tension. "It's Dad."_

_Cameron clenched as her brother relayed the rest of his message._

MDMDMDMD

_Before we realize what is happening, we are being transported through a warp of time and space and landing squarely in the office of one Dr. Lisa Cuddy. We look around in confusion, wondering what exactly has happened, when suddenly there comes the sound of two voices singing to a song. Finally becoming adjusted to our surroundings, we realize that the voices are coming from Cuddy and Cameron. They are gyrating to the beat of a popular Shania Twain song._

_Cue the music for "Man! I Feel Like a Woman"_

**Cameron**: _(currently standing on Cuddy's office chair in stockinged feet, she is moving her hips to the tune and singing into her stethoscope)_: I'm going out tonight-I'm feelin' alright; Gonna let it all hang oouuuut!

**Cuddy**: _(holding a pen to her lips, she sidles up to Cameron and begins to sing up at her from the floor)_ Wanna make some noise-really raise my voice; Yeah, I wanna scream and shoouuuut!

**Together**: _(both singing loudly to each other now, their faces inches apart)_ No inhibitions-make no conditions; Get a little outta line; I ain't gonna act politically correct; I only wanna have a good tiiiiime!

_Suddenly, the door opens and in walks a strange woman with short brown hair and . . . Oh, wait! That's me again. And I'm about to interrupt the duet._

**Me**: _(clears throat)_ Um, excuse me?

_The music suddenly stops. Cameron jumps, nearly falling off the chair and Cuddy turns around quickly._

**Cuddy**: Oh, my god! It's, like, the stalker again.

**Cameron**: Like, why can't she just leave us alone?

**Me**: Hey! Don't make me write you getting it on with Vogler.

**Cameron**: _(suddenly apologetic)_ Grooosss! Geez! I'm, like, sorry. What do you want?

**Me**: _(suddenly authoritative)_ I just want you to read this quick announcement.

**Cameron**: _(grabs announcement, and suddenly her stance changes from Valley Girl to authoritative)_ This just in. Several people have called in reviews. The hostages are closer to release. It's likely that they will be released within the next four chapters. But the situation is far from stable. I repeat, the situation is far from stable. The perpetrator is demanding more reviews, or she might take drastic actions. She has threatened to have House rip off his shirt and start singing about how he's too sexy for his cane. Stay tuned for further developments.

**Me**: _(taking the announcement back) _Thank you. _(I start walking out of the room)_

**Cameron**: _(Suddenly a Valley Girl again)_ Whatever!

_After I've left the room, Cameron and Cuddy stare at the door for a moment as if making sure that I'm not coming back. And then the music starts again, and we are left with Cameron and Cuddy gyrating to the beat, stethoscope and pen placed to their lips as they belt out the tune._

**Together**: Oh, oh, oh, go totally crazy-forget I'm a lady

Men's shirts-short skirts

Oh, oh, oh, really go wild-yeah!

_Fade._


	10. Tension

DEDICATION: Okay, I'm running out of chapters to dedicate, so this is going to be a big one. First, to my wonderful beta, Dominamia. Thank you, darlin'! Also to Animagus-Steph, who gives awesome reviews; and to obsessedwithstabler, who I always seem to be able to make laugh. Finally, to mephista12. Thank you for understanding the crazy life of a law student, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

DISCLAIMER: I'm slowly starting to brainwash them into believing that they belong to me. Mwahahahaha!

_She stepped forward and laid a rose on the coffin, her still dry eyes reflecting a sort of bitter pain. This was her father. The man who had taught her how to tie her shoes. Who had taken her on her first camping trip. Who had made her ice cream sundaes when she had broken up with her very first boyfriend. And yet here he was, in this wooden box that was slowly being lowered into the ground . . . and she didn't know him at all. _

_She turned away from the coffin and sought out her son, held tightly in Shelly's arms. Suddenly, she knew. She couldn't do it to him. She couldn't keep him from knowing his father. Despite the embedded fear that sprang up like a torch when she thought of going back, of reentering that world . . . of facing House . . . she knew that she had to do it. If not for herself, then for her son. _

_But deep down, she knew that this move wouldn't simply be for Jake. It would just be awhile before she was ready to admit it to herself._

MDMDMDMD

Three hours after she'd left House in the clinic, Cameron found herself walking briskly down the hallway, an anxious knot forming itself in her stomach. She wasn't exactly sure what to do. Her patient was not doing well, and she knew that she should stay late and go over some possible courses of action. The problem was, she had a baby to take care of and no available baby-sitter. After what Melissa had pulled the night before – leaving Jake in the hands of a stranger, even if that stranger had been his father – she wasn't about to trust the woman with her son again. But Melissa was the only possible baby-sitter she had found thus far, which left Cameron between a rock and a hard place. Either entrust her son to a woman that she _didn't _trust; or leave a dying patient at the mercy of a treatment that was not working.

Of course, there was a third option.

Cameron paused just outside the diagnostic's department, steeling herself for what was to come. Then, drawing a deep breath and wiping her palms against her trousers, she pushed open the glass doors and stepped inside. Where she was greeted with the sight of House seated at his desk, playing his Gameboy.

"Hey," she said, her breath catching in her throat as she was suddenly overwhelmed with memories of days two years gone.

House looked up from his game, a mask immediately slipping over his features. "Hey," he repeated, his tone indiscernible as he carefully avoided eye contact.

The knot in Cameron's stomach tightened a bit more at his reaction, but she forced herself to smile. Determinedly stepping up to House's desk, she pulled something out of her pocket. "You left these at my place last night," she said, handing him his motorcycle gloves.

House blinked. "Thanks," he replied, grabbing the gloves and placing them in the pocket of his coat. He had wondered what had happened to them.

"Not a problem," she replied a little too cheerfully, trying to make up for the awkwardness. And then, to fill the gap between 'here are your gloves' and 'will you completely break character and baby-sit my son,' she continued with: "So . . ."

"So . . ." House echoed, blankly staring at the wall behind her.

Unfortunately, it appeared that neither had anything else to say and a moment of tense silence commenced. Finally, Cameron decided to just jump right in. "Listen, I was wondering –" she said

But apparently the silence had been too much for House, too, because he chimed in at the same time with: "I really need to –"

Both stopped talking immediately. Then, feeling immensely awkward, House cleared his throat and looked at Cameron. "You were saying?" he smirked.

She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and bit her lower lip, trying to figure out how best to phrase her request. _(House's eyes unconsciously strayed to said lip.) _"I have a patient," she finally said.

House hit upon the phrase as though it were water in a dry well. "That often comes with being a doctor," he said sardonically, the sarcasm loosening the tightness in his chest. "It's a vicious truth that they neglect to tell us in medical school. The good news is that you can get them to go away by offering them treats and free drugs."

Cameron chuckled, glad for the release in tension. "Thanks for the information," she said dryly, shooting House a wry smile as she finally met his smirk-filled eyes. And then, before she knew what she was doing, she had blurted: "I need you to baby-sit."

House blinked and cocked his head to the side. "Come again?" he said, for once stuck for words. Another great way to relieve tension – leave him blind-sided.

Cameron sighed, but held her ground. "I need you to baby-sit," she repeated, staring determinedly at House's forehead.

House looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "Is this a joke?" he asked, looking around the room. "Are there hidden cameras somewhere? Is someone gonna jump out of a cake and yell 'surprise'?"

She took a deep breath and elaborated. "I don't have anyone else to ask," she said. "And I need to stay here with my patient."

"Well, as long as you've exhausted all your options," House said dryly.

"I guess I could always call Melissa," Cameron retorted, doing her best to keep her tone level despite the nervousness coursing through her veins. "But then you seemed to think she was diseased . . ."

"Malaria Girl?" House responded, suddenly sober. "Why don't we just shoot him up with the plague? It'd be quicker."

"Right," Cameron replied smoothly, her lips curling into a slight smile as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Or you could just baby-sit."

House found himself leaning forward in his chair, glaring at Cameron. Gone was the earlier apprehension. In its place was an open-ended challenge. He didn't want to do this. He wanted to stay far away from both Cameron and the kid. Unfortunately, it looked like his mouth had other ideas. "You do realize that if I baby-sit, the kid's gonna be scarred for life?"

It was Cameron's turn to smirk. "Better sooner than later," she retorted. "This way, we can introduce him to therapy early in life. By the time he's a teenager, he'll be a pro."

He continued to fix her with a level stare before sighing and leaning back in his chair. "You'd better find a good therapist," he grumbled, staring at the ceiling.

But he followed her home on his motorcycle two hours later, and even stayed when she went back to work.

MDMDMDMD

_Despite her earlier promise, Cameron didn't go to House's place that night. She wasn't exactly sure why. No, that was a lie. She knew why she hadn't gone. She just really didn't want to face up to it._

_Seeing him at the hospital that afternoon had jarred something within her loose. Time was ticking by. His suspension would be up in less than a month, yet they still hadn't talked about what the hell it was they were doing. And judging from his reaction today – and her own, she had to admit – they were no closer to coming to a conclusion._

_So she hadn't gone to his place. Not because she hadn't wanted to, but because something inside her had forbidden her to go. And she hadn't felt like fighting it._

_Which was why she was at home now, running a bubble bath. She had decided that what she really needed was to just relax, clear her head for a night. Forget about everything that had happened in the last month. Maybe then she'd be able to figure out what to do with the next month._

_Unfortunately, it seemed that blue-eyed fate had decided to intervene. Just as Cameron was stepping into the comforting warmness of the tub, she heard a knock on her door. Her breath caught in her throat and she froze with her foot halfway into the bath, trying to decide whether or not to answer. But then the knocking turned into a distinctive determined rapping, and she sighed heavily. Setting her foot back on the floor, she grabbed her robe and went to see what House wanted._

"_You're home," he announced when she opened the door._

"_You're right," Cameron retorted, leaning against the frame._

_House's eyes wandered to the exposed skin at the nape of Cameron's neck. "You were supposed to come to my place," he reminded her, frowning. He looked very much like a confused little boy._

_She sighed and pulled the robe tighter around herself. House's frown deepened, but she ignored it. "I decided to come home instead," she said, shifting her gaze to the wall behind him and hoping that he'd let it drop._

_But House was not to be deterred. "Why?" he asked._

_The challenge in his voice caused Cameron to redirect her gaze to his own. "I can't do this anymore," she admitted._

"_Do what?" House interrogated, intentionally playing dumb._

"_This," Cameron said in frustration, gesturing between the two of them. "You, me. I don't even know what we're doing."_

_Being his typical self, House chose to reflect his discomfort with humor. "Last I checked, we were having lots of great sex," he said conspiratorially, allowing himself to smirk._

_Cameron blushed. "That's all we're doing," she mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes._

_It was House's turn to sigh. "Can I come in?" he asked, knowing that it was best to be polite under the circumstances._

"_Fine," Cameron said, stepping aside to allow him entrance and shutting the door behind him. Then, taking a moment to compose herself, she turned to face him once again. "What are we doing, House?" she asked seriously. Now that she had started this, she was going to finish it. _

_He took a deep breath and then exhaled sharply. "What do you want me to say?" he asked, distinctly uncomfortable. He had known she'd need to have this conversation, and had been surprised that it had taken her this long. But he wasn't ready for it._

"_I don't know," Cameron admitted, looking at the ground. She thought for a moment, trying to put her feelings into words. "I guess I want you to say that this is something more than a fluke. That it's not just about the sex."_

_House held her gaze for a long moment, during which time his own gaze turned a little vulnerable. "It's not just about the sex."_

MDMDMDMD

Three hours after his sitting job had commenced, the world was drenched in rain and Wilson was standing at Cameron's front door (protected by the overhang of the roof). "What's the big emergency?" he queried, his eyebrows arched and his arms clutched across his chest in an effort to keep out the cold. House's position in the center of the door frame blocked his view into the rest of the condo, but he could hear childlike chatter and laughing in the background. "And what exactly are you doing baby-sitting for Cameron?"

"Don't ask," House replied, looking over his shoulder to ensure the kid was where he'd left him (playing with about a hundred toy cars), before turning back to Wilson. "I need a consult," he said.

This piqued the oncologist's attention. "What's wrong? Is it Scott?" _(in reference to House's current six-year old patient.)_.

"Nope," House replied simply. "It's the kid. There's a dampness around his buttocks and groin, and a slight ammonia odor emanating from the region. For the life of me, I just couldn't figure out what the problem was."

Wilson stared. "Let me get this straight," he finally said. "You called me away from a heavy case load, had me come way over to the other side of town _in the rain_ . . .so that I could change your son's diaper?"

House pretended to consider for a moment. "Yup," he finally said, nodding.

Wilson fixed his friend with a deeply incredulous look. "And the reason that you couldn't do this yourself is . . ."

House screwed his face into a similarly incredulous expression. "Me? Touch a diaper? It'd ruin my girly complexion."

A short bark of disbelieving laughter erupted from his friend's lips as he inclined his head toward the roof's overhang, attempting not to lose his temper. "You're an ass, you know that?"

House tilted his own head, appearing to contemplate the remark. "You know, I think someone might have mentioned that once," he replied. "Can't really remember, though. It was a long time ago."

Now Wilson was shaking his head in irritation as he once again brought his eyes level with his twerp of a best friend. "Right. I'd forgotten that 'yesterday' equals 'long time' in Housian," he said, involuntarily shivering from the cold. "Now if you'll excuse me –"

But Wilson didn't get to finish his sentence. Because from deep within the bowels of the house came the distinctive sound of a flushing toilet, and a responding gurgling echo. It was then that he realized that the background noise of childlike chatter and laughing had stopped. "Where's –" he began, but the same thought had occurred to House.

Before Wilson could finish his next sentence, the diagnostician had turned heel and begun a running-limp toward the bathroom. Where he found the kid, poised over the toilet seat and completely naked from the waist down.

"All gone," the child said proudly, fixing his dada with a big toothy grin. Apparently, he'd decided to take care of his diaper problem himself.

House stared at his son in annoyed disbelief, then turned and glared at his best friend when he erupted in laughter. "Something funny, Jimmy?" he bit, popping a vicodin.

"Not at all," Wilson replied, attempting to stifle his laughter and then failing as he noticed that Jake wasn't finished with the toilet.

House turned back just in time to see his son grabbing a chubby handful of toilet paper and throwing it into the bowl, where it joined what might have been two more handfuls. "Flushie!" the child said delightedly, flushing the toilet and watching in wonder as the water began to rise still more.

Instinctively, House reached out and swatted the boy's hand. "No!" he said, wondering what the hell had possessed him to baby-sit in the first place. Maybe he'd caught something from that inept disease carrier of a baby-sitter.

At the tap on his hand, the little boy stared at his father, his eyes going wide with shock. And then his lower lip jutted out and his expression turned defiant. "Flushie!" he demanded, reaching for more toilet paper.

"No!" House said, swatting the child's hand for a second time.

But the action only served to increase the defiance in the little boy's eyes. "Flushie!"he screeched, again reaching for the toilet paper.

House popped another vicodin and glared at his son.

"Um, I think you might have to spank him," Wilson spoke up hesitantly, shrugging when House turned and glared at _him_.

"Sure," he retorted. "Maybe I should chain and shackle him as well."

"I'm serious, House," Wilson replied, his expression earnest. "He's not behaving."

"Thanks –" he began dryly, but was interrupted when the toilet was flushed yet again. This time, water came pouring up over the lid.

"Flushie!" cried Jake, thoroughly delighted.

House gritted his teeth, the muscles in his neck knotting spectacularly. And then, before he really knew what was happening, he had turned around and fixed his son with disapproving eyes. "I said 'no,'" he repeated sternly, and then he bent over and gave the child a quick slap on his behind.

Jake's grin immediately faded as his lower lip jutted out to an alarming angle, his bright blue eyes filled with tears, and a high-pitched wail emanated from his lips. "Dada!" he cried, the wail getting louder as he turned accusing eyes on his father.

House stared at his son in annoyed bewilderment as an unexpected pang reverberated in his chest.

And then Cameron came home.

"The front door was open," she began in confusion, walking into the bathroom. Where she was immediately attacked by her small son.

"Mama!" Jake cried, flinging his tiny arms around his mother's leg. His chubby cheeks were still streaked with tears.

"What happened?" Cameron asked, her eyes wide with alarm as she took in the scene.

Wilson cleared his throat. "Well, I'd better be going," he said, backing out of the room. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said to House. "Allison," he smiled. And then he was gone.

But Cameron's attention was focused on House. "What happened?" she repeated, still too shocked to notice the exchange going on between her son and his father.

But an exchange was going on. House barely registered Cameron's words as his attention was fixed on the accusing tear-filled eyes of his son, staring at him from the vantage point of his mother's leg. Finally, the pang in his chest repeating itself, House turned from the child and grabbed the plunger in the corner of the room. And then, after pulling out the soggy diaper, he began to attack the toilet with a vengeance.

Cameron watched him for a few more seconds, perplexed, before looking down at the little boy wrapped around her leg. And then it clicked. The perplexion turning to sympathy, she glanced back up at House. "He gave you a hard time, huh?"

House grunted and continued attacking the toilet, secretly attempting to get the look in his son's eyes out of his mind. He should have just changed the damn diaper himself. Hell, he should have never agreed to baby-sit in the first place.

Cameron sighed, then bent over and scooped her son up off the ground. "I'll put Jake to bed," she said, casting one last sympathetic look at House before leaving him to assault her toilet.

It took him ten minutes to finish unclogging the toilet, after which he used a towel _(one of her good ones, Cameron would later notice)_ to mop up the puddle on the floor. All the while, his son's tear-filled expression and cry of 'Dada!' kept echoing in his head. "Damn kid," House muttered in an effort to harden the constricting muscles in his chest. Unfortunately, it had only a marginal effect and by the time he was done, he was more than eager to get home and find his scotch.

But it seemed that Cameron had other ideas. Just as he was heading into the safety of the living room, which in turn led to the freedom of the front door, she emerged from her kitchen carrying a steaming blue mug. "I thought you could use this," she said wryly, handing him the cup.

House hesitated, the thought of a soothing glass of scotch playing in his mind. But apparently the exhaustion and raw emotions flooding through his gut had led to loss of muscle control. "Thanks," he said, taking the cup from her.

"No problem," Cameron replied, her lips curling into a smile. "What exactly happened tonight, anyway?"

House chose to remain silent, instead taking a sip of his coffee and allowing his eyes to wander to the pile of cars on the carpet. He reached down and picked up one car in particular, turning it over in his hand and cocking his head to the side.

"Grave Digger," Cameron said simply, feeling her breath catch in her throat. "I found it in a toy shop outside of Princeton, and couldn't help but buy it for him." She paused, feeling a twinge of hope. "We had fun that night."

Apparently, the same thought had occurred to House. "You tried to steal my cotton candy," he said lightly, attempting to hide the conflicting emotions coursing through his chest.

"Hardly," Cameron laughed, endeavoring to relieve the tension between them. "You tried to steal mine."

He found himself looking up at her, locking his gaze with her own. "Why did you leave?" he asked, before really realizing that he was voicing the words.

Cameron blinked, surprised by the question. "I . . . needed the space," she said, knowing that it was a lame excuse, and not really the one she would have given under different circumstances. But House had caught her off guard, and it was the only one she had to give.

Clearly the strain of the last few weeks had had its effect, however, and suddenly House wasn't content with settling for that answer. "Try again," he demanded, setting his jaw.

Cameron sighed and forced herself to meet his gaze. "I needed the space," she repeated, and then elaborated. "Things between us were volatile, House. It got to the point where I couldn't take it anymore."

"So you just ran away," he shot, angry. "You didn't even give it a try."

Cameron narrowed her eyes. "If you'll remember correctly," she stated coldly, "I did try to work it out. But you were too doped up on morphine to really talk about it."

"I was in pain," he snapped, his eyes flashing. "The morphine was the only thing that took it away."

"You didn't even try to go to therapy," Cameron returned. "Maybe if you had, you wouldn't have been in so much pain."

"Oh, what the hell do you know about it?" House growled. "You think that just because they forced me into therapy, my life was gonna be all sunshine and daisies? That everything was gonna be hunky dory?"

"Of course not," Cameron snapped, taking two steps toward him. "But things would have been bearable. You wouldn't have had to resort to morphine. Maybe you would have even been capable of having a normal relationship."

"I repeat," House bit, glowering down at her. "What the hell do you know about it? You couldn't have a normal relationship if your life depended on it."

There was a sudden grave silence as Cameron stared at House in hurt shock. And then she set her jaw and began advancing on him until she was within mere inches of his face. "I guess you'll never know," she said in a dangerously low voice, her eyes blazing furiously.

He met her gaze directly, barely concealed emotions flying between them like sparks from a wildfire as their eyes interlocked in fierce intensity, both refusing to back down. Suddenly, House was struck with the overwhelming and inexplicable thought that he'd never seen her look so beautiful, immediately followed by the notion that all he'd have to do was lean down a little and his lips could be engulfing hers.

He cleared his throat and broke the stare. "It's late," he said, not bothering to wait for a response before limping over to the coat rack to grab his jacket and gloves. He'd have to ride home in the rain, but at the moment he really couldn't bring himself to give a damn.

Cameron sighed, the sudden break in contact bringing with it a distinctive flat feeling which mingled with hurt and anger. "Good-bye, House," she said softly, her voice streaked with frustration.

House paused at the threshold to the front door, several emotions coursing through him at once. Finally, however, the urge to escape became too much and he replied with a short "Bye," before opening the door and stepping out into the rain-drenched night.

Neither would admit that they hadn't even broached Cameron's real reason for leaving.

MDMDMDMD

_We are back in the theatre where House gave his rousing performance of "Review, Review." Once again, he is being pushed onto a stage whilst glaring bloody murder._

**House: **_(through gritted teeth)_ I'm not doing it!

**Me: **Yes, you are. Or I'll write _you_ getting it on with Chase.

**House: **I'd rather get it on with Chase than do this. At least he has pretty hair.

_Sighing, I pull out my trusty pad of paper and began scribbling furiously. Suddenly, House's glare takes on an element of surprise and he is sauntering to the middle of the stage. The music for "I'm Too Sexy," by Right Said Fred begins to play._

**House:**

I'm too sexy for my love too sexy for my love  
Love's going to leave me

_(He begins to thrust his pelvis whilst taking off his shirt)_

I'm too sexy for my shirt too sexy for my shirt

_(He throws his shirt out into the audience; who's gonna catch it?)_

So sexy it hurts  
I'm too sexy for my cane too sexy for my cane  
Too sexy by far  
And I'm too sexy for my coat  
Too sexy for my coat  
Please don't you gloat

And you're gonna write reviews  
Gonna write reviews  
And then I'll do my little turn on the catwalk  
My little turn on the catwalk . . .

_Suddenly, House's sense of willpower proves to be too strong and he stops singing._

**House: **Where the hell is that damn cop when you need him? _(He storms off the stage.)_

**Me: **Review and you'll get to see Foreman do something you've never seen him do before. Oh! And you might even get a reprise of this song in a later chapter.


	11. Haunted

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you to my temporary beta, Animagus-Steph. She did a fantastic job!

DEDICATION: Okay, let's see here . . . I'd like to dedicate this chapter to fisharecoolies, for her regular awesome reviews; Ninavs2, Kayleighbough and Evangelina Lilly for being three of the earliest and most recurrent reviewers I've had; and to my nephew, Zachary, who I've recently discovered is my inspiration for Jake. If he only knew . . . ;-)

_House lay wide awake in Cameron's bed, thoughts of the evening playing in his mind with amazing force. Even though they had come to the conclusion that it wasn't just about the sex, they had ended up kissing less than a minute later. And two minutes after that, they had stumbled into her bedroom, House popping two vicodin along the way. Over the month that they'd been engaging in this thing, this had become par for the course. But last night had been entirely different._

_Rather than the unrelenting, crashing kisses, their lips and tongues had joined in slow, tender movements. Instead of the urgent, frenzied thrusts, their bodies had moved purposefully, evocatively. Rather than insistent, hungry stares, their eyes had met in challenging, tender looks. It really wasn't just sex anymore._

_If he was honest with himself, he would have admitted that the change had been more gradual. But he wasn't ready to be honest with himself. And he definitely wasn't ready to wrap his mind around the idea that it wasn't just sex anymore. He didn't know if he ever would be._

_So he pushed aside the warm, tender feeling that struck him deep at the feel of Cameron's head resting on his chest. He ignored his desire to reach out and twist one of her silky strands of hair around his pointer finger. And he evaded the thought that he actually enjoyed having her in his arms._

_Instead, he gently raised her head and placed it on the pillow beside his own, and then carefully pushed himself out of the bed._

_By the time she awoke, he was halfway across New Jersey, attempting to make sense of the thoughts that were rushing through his mind._

MDMDMDMD

House was exhausted. Since the night that he'd had the fight with Cameron – and single-handedly quelled the flood of Egypt emanating from her toilet – he'd been haunted by thoughts and memories. It was even worse than in the few weeks prior to the incident. At least then, he'd been able to get to sleep after a tumbler of scotch or an assault on his piano. Now every time he tried to close his eyes, the kid's accusing stare popped into place behind his eyelids. And in the instances when he could successfully push the image away, it would be quickly replaced by the picture of Cameron's smoldering gaze. And then his thoughts would head on down to her lips . . .At which point he would be overwhelmed with several emotions, none of which he felt like owning up to.

So he had decided to focus on the kid's accusing stare. Tossing and turning had become a given.

Add to that the fact that his latest case was turning out to be even more of a headache than he'd first gambled for. He'd spent the better part of the previous day beating his tennis ball against the wall of his office, running through the list of possible diagnoses in his mind. Nothing seemed to fit, and it was driving him nuts. Finally, at the very end of the day, Pinky and the Brain had announced a positive test result for tuberculosis. It had fit the symptoms. So the patient's bickering parents had been notified, he had been started on meds, and House had gone home. To toss and turn.

Now he was two hours late for work, and endeavoring to avoid Cuddy and her endless platitudes about how good doctors show up to work on time. And do clinic duty.

Unfortunately, Cuddy had gotten good at anticipating her employee's moves.

"You're late," she said as he stepped into his office, closely flanked by his two lackeys.

"I'm sorry," House replied, shooting her a faux apologetic look while snapping his fingers in a 'gosh darn' play of witticism. "I forgot we were having a party. Did you want me to go home and get the chips and dip?"

"I want you to be here on time," she replied, rolling her eyes. "We've been paging you all morning."

"Yeah, I turned that off," he replied, taking a seat and propping his feet up on the conference table. "It kept beeping." Truth be told, he had left it in Wilson's office the day before.

Cuddy sighed and gritted her teeth in irritation. "Your patient has gotten worse," she informed him.

House raised his brows. "Do you hear something?" he asked his team. "It sounds almost like that weird phone static."

Cuddy rolled her eyes in annoyance, but a concerned Foreman spoke before she could say anything in response. "He's developed two more symptoms," he said, stepping beside Cuddy. "Hallucinations --"

House's brow knitted. "That's not conducive with TB," he stated.

"– And blood in the urine," Foreman continued. "His kidneys are failing."

The news magnified the contemplative concern reflected in House's eyes, and suddenly his muscles appeared to tense. Dropping his feet to the ground, he pushed himself out of his chair and grabbed his cane, limping to the whiteboard. "His kidneys weren't failing yesterday," he stated, studying the whiteboard. "And if it was just TB, the meds would have stopped it from happening today."

"You think you messed up the results?" Cuddy asked, furrowing her brow.

"I'm sorry," House replied, shooting her an exaggerated look of surprise (mixed with annoyance). "Are you still here?"

"His parents are threatening to sue," Cuddy stated, crossing her arms over her chest. "I want to make sure you don't screw up."

"Too bad I can't diagnose their son," House replied, placing the marker back on its ledge and crossing his own arms over his chest.

Cuddy shot him a look of disbelief. "Work on the case, House."

"I work better when the big-breasted dragon's not breathing fire down my neck," House stated. "Unless, of course, you want the kid to –"

"Fine," the administrator snapped, glaring at her employee. "But I want a report on my desk by the end of the day." With that, she turned on her high heels and stalked out of the room.

When she was gone, House turned back to the whiteboard with set jaw. "TB weakens the immune system, leading the way for other infections and diseases," he stated. "Even if we didn't screw up the results, it's possible that something else is going on. What?"

"Legionnaires'?" Foreman queried, taking a seat and arching a brow. "He's only six, but it is possible."

House appeared to think about it. "Is it hallucinations or delirium?" he demanded.

"Hallucinations," Chase spoke up. "He thinks his father's girlfriend is in the room with him."

"That must make mommy real happy," House grumbled, before narrowing his eyes in thought. Legionnaires' was more likely to cause delirium, but it required fairly simple tests and they were running out of ideas. "Okay," he said, writing the disease on the board. "Give him a sputum culture and an antibody test to check for Legionnaires'." Then: "What else?"

"What about Reye's Syndrome?" Chase pondered from his vantage point by the coffeepot. "It's more likely to happen to a six-year old."

"Has he had chicken pox recently?" House asked, glancing at the Australian.

He flipped through the chart. "Yeah, actually," he said, looking up at House.

"We'll start with that then. Ask mommy and daddy if they gave him aspirin," House replied, jotting _Reye's Syndrome_ onto the board. He paused. "On second thought, don't ask them anything. They're probably too busy trying to sue us to worry about their son. Just redraw his blood and give him another CT scan." He turned to Foreman. "I need you to break into his house. See if there's anything unusual that might cause these symptoms."

"My car's in the shop," the neurologist stated. "Chase drove me to work."

"Then steal one," House returned, glaring at his fellow. "Just get it done."

MDMDMDMD

_House sat in his darkened office, leaning back in his leather chair as rock music blasted its way into his ears via his headphones. They had finally figured out what was wrong with Wilson's patient. But now that he didn't have a distraction, the thoughts of the previous weeks came flooding back to him. The return of Stacy, the discovery of Mark. The affair, the departure, the emptiness that followed. Moriarty. And the return of the pain in his leg._

_The pain was becoming overwhelming._

_So he had retreated to his darkened office, attempting to drown the thoughts and the pain with incredibly loud music. So far, it was having a marginal effect. His mind was just wandering to his lockbox at home when his office door suddenly swung open and in walked Cameron – the lucky winner of the short straw. House took off his headphones and arched his brow._

"_The treatment isn't working," she stated, striding up to his desk. "The patient's kidneys are failing him."_

_House furrowed his brow and dropped his headphones onto his desk. "Barmah Forest Virus doesn't cause kidney failure," he stated, naming the mosquito-borne virus they'd assumed the patient had picked up on his recent trip to Australia._

"_Exactly," Cameron said, crossing her arms over her chest. "We got the wrong disease."_

_But everything had fit. House narrowed his eyes in baffled contemplation. "What else could it be?" he pondered aloud._

"_What about Cryoglobulinemia?" Cameron questioned. "It could present itself along with Barmah Forest Virus."_

_It was a testament to just how much his leg was killing him that House didn't mock the diagnosis. "Fine," he said. "Test him. And while you're at it, check him again for Barmah Forest and lupus."_

"_All right," Cameron agreed. Then – because she, too, had noticed his leg pain – she said: "Is your leg okay?"_

"_It's fine," House replied, a bit snappish. "Go test the patient."_

_Cameron tucked her lips and raised her eyebrows. "Okay," she said, and then turned and left._

_The moment she was gone, House grabbed his cane and began hitting his tennis ball in a measured assault against his office wall._

MDMDMDMD

Four hours later, they had made two discoveries. It wasn't Reye's and the antibiotic combination therapy prescribed for the tuberculosis still wasn't working. House had ordered _(demanded)_ more intensive meds for the TB, and a fluid replacement program for the more immediate kidney failure. Afterwards, he had holed himself up in his office, repeatedly throwing his tennis ball against the wall with the use of his cane. Every time the ball whacked against the wall, he was reminded that he was that much further away from figuring out what the hell was ailing this kid.

Unfortunately, his thought processes were impeded by the image of _his_ kid's accusing blue eyed stare. Among other things. Every time he felt that he was on the verge of a major brainstorm, the image kept popping into his mind. Finally, after an hour of marking repeated assault on his office wall, he had gotten fed up with the rampant circles his deliberation seemed to be taking and allowed the ball to drop to the floor.

And had somehow found himself standing in the nursery, clutching a bag of french fries _(purchased from the cafeteria and generously paid for by an unsuspecting Wilson)_ and seeking out the kid.

He spotted him almost immediately. Standing at the side of the room with a truck clutched in his small fist, a look of – triumph? – spreading across his chubby face. Nearby was a screaming toddler and Medusa herself, who appeared to be shooting the kid a disapproving glare. House narrowed his eyes at the look, but didn't have much time to contemplate where it had come from. Almost as soon as he had stepped inside, Jake dropped the truck and came running up to his father on shaky toddler legs. "Dada!" the little boy cried, a grin lighting up his face.

At his delighted expression, a weight seemed to lift from House's chest, to be replaced by an increasingly familiar warmth. "French fry?" he asked him, taking out a golden potato and handing it to the child.

The little boy's grin widened. "Dank you," he said, grabbing the treat and stuffing it into his mouth. House smirked, making a mental note that the way to the kid's heart was through fried potatoes. It was definitely cheaper than sports cars.

Unfortunately, the father/son moment came to an abrupt end when Medusa – er, Miss Natalie – came stalking over. "Dr. House?" she queried, her mouth set in a firm line.

House exhaled in annoyance, but turned toward the teacher. "No, actually," he said flippantly. "I'm the new intern. Rodrigo."

The strict look in Miss Natalie's eyes became clouded with confusion. "You're Jake's father, aren't you?"

House sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Actually, that was a vicious rumor started to hide the fact that he was fathered by an ex-convict." He leaned toward her conspiratorially, as Jake wandered off in another direction. "His mother has these odd tendencies . . ."

"Clearly," replied Miss Natalie dryly, causing House to narrow his eyes once again. Then: "I need to speak with you about your son."

"What about him?" The diagnostician asked in irritation, glancing around the room for the wayward toddler. He seemed to have disappeared.

Miss Natalie cut right to the point. "He's a brat," she said. She opened her mouth to say more, but House cut in.

"And you're a harpy," he returned, glaring at her. "What's your point?"

"My point," Miss Natalie continued, an affronted blush appearing on her cheeks. "Is that he isn't behaving. He's willful, he's defiant, he's rude to other children, he –"

"He's not even two," House interrupted, his irritation growing. "What do you expect?"

"I expect him to behave," Miss Natalie snapped, her lips pursed.

"And I expect you to be able to handle a baby," House returned. "But you can't always get what you want." _(At this point, the kid toddled over with a book clamped in his chubby fist.)_

Miss Natalie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Dr. House, I –"

But House cut her off once again. "If you don't mind, I was in the middle of bribing my son." He shook the bag of french fries at the teacher just as Jake started beating his left leg with the book. _("Story?")_

"No wonder he's such a well-adjusted child," the woman grumbled, shooting a look of disgruntlement at both father and son before turning on her heel and stalking into her office.

House watched her go, his jaw working as he thought of several other well-placed remarks he'd like to send her way. But then it dawned on him that the kid was still beating his leg with the book. "You're a pest, you know that?" House asked him, grabbing the book out of his grasp.

"Story?" Jake asked, fixing his father with hopeful blue eyes.

"I don't do stories," he said hesitantly, placing the book on top of a nearby plastic table. Which gave him an excuse not to look at those eyes.

But Jake would not be deterred. "Story," he demanded, toddling up to the table and grabbing the book.

"No story," House said, beginning to regret his decision to come to the nursery in the first place.

"Story!" Jake demanded again, holding the book out to his father.

House sighed in annoyance, wondering not for the first time where the kid had gotten his streak of stubbornness. "No story," he repeated, firmer in tone.

Unfortunately, the word 'no,' coupled with the firm tone seemed to have a negative effect. Upon hearing it, Jake's lower lip jutted out and began to tremble, and his eyes filled with unshed tears. Within seconds, House was the victim of the same look that had haunted him for the past two days. A pang reverberated in his chest at the sight, and he placed his fingertips to his forehead.

"Story," Jake said miserably, holding the book out to his father as the tears pooled in his eyes.

House sighed heavily. "Fine," he grumbled, grabbing the soft-cover and taking a seat in a nearby chair. "But just a little."

"Little?" the child repeated with innocent eyes, the tears already forgotten.

House couldn't help but smirk and shake his head. But then something odd happened, and the smirk left the diagnostician's lips. Jake grabbed hold of his father's left knee and hoisted himself into House's lap. Oddly enough, he seemed to be taking care not to rattle the diagnostician's bad leg.

The effect this had on House's mood was tangible. At the feel of his son on his lap, a variety of emotions flooded through him almost simultaneously. The amused annoyance was replaced first by a jolt of bewilderment, which tapered off into surprise. Then a gradual feeling of endearment. And finally an overwhelming sense of protectiveness. The smirk returned to House's lips. "You're not going to let me live this down, are you?" he asked his son.

Jake craned his neck back to look up at his father with wide, innocent eyes. "Story?"

House snorted and rolled his eyes, but opened the book and started to read.

MDMDMDMD

_In the four days since their last night together, Cameron had been making regular attempts to get a hold of House. She had made repeated calls to both his cell and home phone – during which she had decided that she would force him to change his answering machine message under threat of death – and had even gone to his house twice. But the shades had been drawn, the lights had been off, and no one had answered the door. He appeared to have fallen off the face of the earth._

_At first, she had figured that he needed the time to think. She sure as hell did. Things between them had gotten so intense, it was becoming hard to remember to breathe. But four days? With no contact? At the very least, he could have answered one of her calls and let her know that he was all right. If he was out of town, he would have at least brought his cell phone._

_Which left Cameron in serious emotional turmoil. Had he taken off to get away from her? Did he regret his proclamation that it wasn't just about the sex? Had he decided to just end things? If he had, she wished he'd just tell her and let her deal with it. She was beginning to feel like she was dangling from a string._

_And then something else had occurred to her. She was late. By three days. _

_In the six weeks they had been having sex, they had been so careful._

_But she was never late._

_The realization had been enough to knock her already tumultuous emotions into full overdrive. If she was . . . But she wouldn't let herself go there. Not yet. Instead, she purchased one of those EPT gadgets – it would have been too risky to get it done at the hospital – and now she was pacing the length of her living room, wringing her hands to keep them from shaking as a cluster of butterflies fluttered throughout her stomach._

_She felt like she was going to be ill._

_In fact, by the time the results were ready, she was experiencing full waves of nausea. She took the test three times just to be sure. And on the third time, when she could no longer deny what she saw, she rushed to the toilet and dry heaved as a slew of memories battled their way into her mind._

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: What I am about to show you is for entertainment purposes only. This in no way meant to reflect reality (or fiction) on the show or otherwise. _(It is simply mocking the recurrent joke.)_**

Me: _(Walking around the set) _Strangely, Foreman seems to have disappeared directly after his scene with House. I have recently received reports that he might be in the back lot, so we're headed there now.

_We step out into the back lot and immediately spot Foreman, who is doing something odd to a car. Is he . . . trying to jack open the door?_

Me: There you are, Foreman!

Foreman: _(shooting up like lightening and dropping his crowbar; there is a large clattering of metal on cement) _What up?

Me: Uh, Foreman, what are you doing?

Foreman: Nothin'. _(he crosses his arms over his chest and adopts an impassive expression)_

Me: Uh-huh. Did you know that there have been several reports about attempted car robberies in the neighborhood?

Foreman: Nuh-uh. Brother don't know nothin' 'bout dat. He on the down low.

Me: Uh, okay. Listen, do you remember what we talked about?

Foreman: Hells yeah. _(turns to you all whilst sirens blare in the background)_ Get busy writing reviews, all. This lady here die for dat. Mmhmmm, you best believe it. She write 24/7 if ya'll just leave reviews. Ohh yeah. Mmmhmmm. She write like a mothah.

Me: Thanks, Foreman.

_I smile and walk away. The second I'm gone, Foreman discreetly looks both ways before picking up the crowbar and going back to work._

**Review!**


	12. Snap

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you to my amazing beta, Tiffany.

DEDICATION: I fully intended to dedicate a chapter to each of my wonderful readers and reviewers. And then I realized that I just don't have enough chapters. I have no words to describe how thankful I am for your wonderful reviews, and your dedication to this story. I wouldn't be able to do this without you. For this reason, I dedicate this chapter to each one of my reviewers, each one of my readers, and every one in between.

DISCLAIMER: With the exception of Jake, the characters are not mine. And neither is that damn bunny.

* * *

"'_Real isn't how you are made,'_ _ said the Skin Horse_. '_It's a thing that happens to you_ . . .'," House read in a begrudging tone of voice. He wasn't entirely sure how it had started. One minute his son had been on his lap, listening to that stupid story about the rabbit. The next second, several moppets had joined them and were now gazing up at him with wide eyes. Every time he attempted to put the book down and stand up, Jake would shoot him a wide-eyed look of dismay, that familiar unwelcome pang would resound in his chest, and he'd be forced to continue.

"'_Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit._

'_Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'_ "

But the reading came to an abrupt stop when House felt a certain presence that was decidedly un-childlike. Glancing up from the soft-cover and looking around the room, he realized that he had an audience. Apparently, sometime during his rendition of the story, Cameron had wandered in. He felt a tightness in his chest as their gazes locked, and the memory of their recent fight suddenly came crashing back to House _("I guess you'll never know.")_. From the challenging intensity conveyed in her gaze, he was willing to bet that she was thinking the same thing. His stomach knotted in what he decided was anger at the memory – he refused to believe it was anything else – and his own gaze became that much more consuming.

And then he heard the applause. Loud, steady clapping, interrupted only by a few brief cat calls. Relieved at the excuse to break away from Cameron's heated stare, he furrowed his brow in annoyance to seek out the source of the sound. And soon realized that Cameron hadn't come alone. She was accompanied by none other than Wilson, who was wearing a shit-faced grin.

Glaring at his friend, House hastily set a protesting Jake onto the ground _("Story!")_, and placed the book on the nearest plastic tabletop. Then, pushing himself out of his chair, he purposefully ignored Cameron (who sighed in frustration and bent down to greet Jake), and limped over to his jerk of a best friend. "Something funny, Jimmy?" he grumbled.

"No," Wilson replied, the grin getting wider. "I was just wondering when you were going to start your own story hour?"

"Tomorrow, actually," House snarked, feeling a hidden sense of relief when the still-hovering immunologist was called over to speak with Medusa. "I was thinking you could be my assistant. Wear one of those jester hats. Maybe some clown shoes."

"Funny," Wilson replied, the grin still not disappearing. "But seeing you read to twenty kids was funnier."

"Seeing you doubled over in pain would be great, too," House returned, motioning to his cane. "Should we give it a try?"

Wilson rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, but decided to change the subject upon seeing the faint look of menace in House's eyes. "Your team's looking for you," he said. "The test for Reye's came back negative."

The diagnostician took a deep breath and let it out in a rough exhalation. "What the hell does this kid have?" he pondered.

"What about sarcoidosis?" Wilson queried, contemplating.

"It wouldn't explain the hallucinations," House replied. "And we've checked him twice."

Wilson furrowed his brow in thought. "It might still be cancer. Have you tried an angiogram?" he questioned. "It could show you something that you've missed.

"Now why didn't I think of that?" House retorted. "No wonder you went to medical school. Makes me wonder why I wasted four years in mime school."

"That would explain your total lack of fashion sense," Wilson replied, then checked his watch. "I've got to run. I have an appointment in five minutes."

"Darn," House quipped. "And I was so enjoying the lesson."

"Don't worry," Wilson returned. "We'll pick up tomorrow during story hour." And with that, he smirked at House and headed for the door. Unfortunately, he wasn't quick enough. A few steps later, and House's cane had accidentally jutted out and snagged his foot, causing him to stumble forward.

"Oops," House said, covering his mouth in a faux apologetic gesture. "All that reading must have led to loss of muscle control."

Wilson tucked his lips and straightened up, shooting his friend a look of irritation. "By the way," he said, a serious hue coloring his brown eyes, "Don't forget to talk to Cameron." He gave House a pointed look, glanced at the immunologist, and then headed for the door. This time, he was able to leave unscathed.

House glared after his retreating back for a moment, and then by no will of his own, his eyes shifted to the scene across the room. Cameron was speaking heatedly with Medusa, the kid snuggled happily in her arms. For some reason, the image caused an inexplicable rush of warmth to seep into his chest, which then reverberated with a well-placed pang. It was only when Cameron started to glance in his direction that he quickly turned heel and headed out of the nursery.

MDMDMDMD

_Hours later, Cameron sat on her couch, staring at her phone. Trying to work up the nerve to call House and tell him that they needed to talk. She'd been trying to work up the nerve for quite some time._

_She had no idea what she was going to say. Excluding that, she had no idea if she was even going to be able to reach him. He hadn't picked up his phone for the last four days. What made her think he was going to start now? She sighed in frustration, trying to squash the thought that he had run away because of what had happened between the two of them._

_Instead, for the hundredth time in that four-day span, she attempted to rationalize his disappearance. She had a million different scenarios. Maybe one of his parents was ill. Maybe he had a previous engagement, and had forgotten to tell her about it. Maybe his cell phone had died, his answering machine was broken, and he just hadn't been home when she'd come by._

_Or maybe he'd realized that they'd made a monumental mistake, and he'd decided to run rather than confront her with this fact._

_The familiar knot tightened in her stomach, and a lump of worry rose in her throat. She tried to push it away, but it didn't work. She had the same problem with the fear that followed shortly thereafter. And the nausea that followed shortly after that._

_And then, before she could stop herself, she was recalling a memory that she had long suppressed . . ._

_It had been three days after her husband had been admitted to the hospital for the final time. She had been out of her mind with stress, scared to death that he wasn't going to make it. That he was going to leave her this time. So when the pain began in her abdomen, she figured it was just anxiety. And when it spread to her back, she assumed it was part of sitting in a hard-backed chair all day. It was only when she began to bleed that she realized what was happening._

_It wasn't until she miscarried their child that she discovered she had been two months pregnant at the time. A month later, he passed away. _

_She had never felt so alone._

_Until now._

MDMDMDMD

A few minutes after he'd left the nursery, House instructed the minions to start the patient on a cocktail of antibiotics and meds designed to treat TB and kidney failure. They were running out of time, and he hoped that the meds would buy more until he could figure out what this elusive illness was. Which was why he sat on the conference table now, staring in contemplation at his notes on the Whiteboard. _High fever. Rhinorreah. Cough. Nausea. Sweats. Severe Weakness. Pulmonary Edema. Seizures. Hallucinations. Kidney Failure._ They'd tried every diagnosis that might possibly explain each of these symptoms, and a couple that would only explain a few. He was beginning to think that maybe it was an underlying disease that had in turn caused a variety of symptoms. But what disease? TB? Somehow, he didn't think so. Every one of his systems was shutting down, and TB only led to certain diseases. It had to be something else. But what? It was driving him crazy. Finally, he decided that he needed a good round with his tennis ball.

Pushing himself off the table, he began to head into his office when the door suddenly swung open. And in walked Cameron. A mask immediately slipped over House's features. "The immunology department is actually upstairs," he said, continuing his trek into his office.

"We need to talk," was Cameron's response as she followed him into the room.

"Didn't we already do that?" House returned, attempting to ignore the sudden tension in his chest. Instead, he took a seat on his desk and grabbed his tennis ball, carefully fixing his gaze on the wall behind her. Doing his best to hide the fact that her presence had thrown him off guard.

"No, we yelled," Cameron replied, and House couldn't help but notice the determination in her voice. "I want to talk."

"Talking's so overrated," he stated blithely, shifting his line of sight so that it coincided with her right ear. "Why don't you leave me a note and I'll get to it when I get the chance?"

"Right. Because that would happen," Cameron retorted, shooting him a pointed look.

"Maybe not for a couple of years," he admitted, a little annoyed at the fact that she didn't seem to be getting the hint. And at himself for feeling her presence so keenly. "But I'd get to it eventually."

"House," she said in exasperation, crossing her arms over her chest. "We need to talk now."

House's shoulders slumped in irritation and he finally locked heated eyes with Cameron. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked. The tension that he was feeling caused the question to come out as more of a demand, and he found that he couldn't stop once he'd gotten started. "How I haven't had a decent night's sleep since you came back? How you left in the first place? How you didn't even tell me that you were going to go?"

The tone of his voice caused her to falter for a moment, and she had to take a deep breath to steady herself. But soon the determination returned, and she took a couple of steps toward his desk. "We've been over this," she stated. "I left because our relationship was volatile."

"If things between us were so bad," he countered, "Then why the hell did you come back?"

"Because Jake deserves a father," Cameron returned. "I wasn't going to take that away from him."

"Oh, that's bull," House snapped, grabbing his cane, pushing himself off of his desk and advancing on her. "You don't just pull up stakes and quit your job because your kid needs a father. Especially when he's never even met that father. Especially when that father is _me_." His voice strained on this last word.

"What do you want, House?" Cameron matched his glare as she, too, advanced. "Do you want me to tell you that I'm sorry? Because I am. If I had it to do over again, I _would_. But I don't. This is the way things are. You're Jake's father, and I'm his _mother_. We've got a little boy who needs us. And we've got to figure out what we're going to do about it." With each new word, the emotions in Cameron's eyes pierced House's own as if they were prongs on a fork.

By the time she had finished her diatribe, she was standing so close to House that she had to actually look up to meet his gaze. He felt a slight thrill of electricity course into his gut, and he had to force himself to keep his presence of mind. "I want to know why you came back," he said, the tension evident in his voice.

"Why is it so important?" Cameron prodded, looking up at him heatedly. "Why does it matter? I'm here now, and we have to figure out what to do about it."

Her mouth was so close to House's cheek that her breath stroked his skin with each new word, and he had to fight for control. "Because I want to know," he flashed. "You come back after two years without a word, and I want to know why."

"I missed you!" Cameron cried, throwing her hands up in frustration. House's gaze immediately became more intense. "Okay? I missed –"

But she didn't get any further than that. The declaration caused something in House to snap, and suddenly he could no longer hold back. The thoughts, the memories, the images . . . the heated flush in her cheeks which leant itself to the gorgeous flash in her eyes. . . Everything contributed to a sudden clearness of mind as he closed the final space between them and brought his lips crashing down upon her own.

Cameron's eyes went wide in surprise as House began devouring her lips, the rough stubble of his jaw burning against her silky skin. But soon she was closing her eyes in acceptance as House urgently pushed his tongue into her mouth and she acquiesced, allowing him entrance. And when he placed his hands against the small of her back to pull her closer, she placed her arms around his shoulders and allowed herself to be pulled.

A very small part of House's conscious mind was screaming at him that this wasn't the way that it was supposed to go. He was not supposed to be in the middle of passionately kissing Cameron. But the larger part of himself was overwhelmed by how right she felt in his arms, how good her lips and tongue felt crashing against his own, and how much he had missed this. Had missed her.

It was this larger part that allowed him to break away from the kiss and begin trailing his lips over Cameron's neck, savoring her taste. And when she gasped, it made him all that much more eager to explore the smoothness of her skin. Running his tongue along the length of her neck, nipping at the hollow of her throat, he found himself smirking as a whispered _House_ emerged from her mouth.

Unfortunately, the whisper was soon followed by Cameron pushing against him, a reluctant yet anxious hue covering her flushed face. "Your office is made of glass," she reminded him breathlessly when he shot her a look of disappointed admonishment. "And we still need to talk."

"I thought we were doing just fine," he replied, using a joke to hide his discomfort at their sudden return to reality.

Cameron blushed. "As much as I'd love to agree," she finally said, turning serious, "We've got a lot to talk about before . . . we can do anything like that," she finished lamely.

House sighed and retook his seat on the corner of his desk, grabbing the tennis ball in his right hand. "What is there to talk about?" he asked, once again not meeting her gaze as the ball sailed from his right hand to his left. The actuality of the situation was suddenly weighing on him more than before. "You ran away, you came back. We've got a kid. Case closed."

"There's a bit more to it than that," she replied, her brow furrowing at his sudden closed-off attitude.

"Like what?" House shot, abruptly aware that the room seemed to have shrunk.

"You don't think there's anything left to discuss?" Cameron asked, perplexed (and a little annoyed) by his abrupt shift in demeanor.

House could feel the muscles in the back of his neck tightening. "Not really," he said, knowing that it was a lie, but knowing further still that he wasn't ready to talk about it. Not after what had just happened. Not when he could still feel the burn of her lips against his own.

"House," Cameron prodded, her voice once again tinged with exasperation. "It's not just going to go away. _I'm_ not just going to go away."

"Why not?" he flared. "You did it before." The words emerged before he had a chance to think, and he almost regretted them when he saw the look on Cameron's face. But now that they were out, he wasn't going to take them back.

"That's not fair," she stated, her features suddenly guarded. "You know why I left."

"No, I don't, actually," House returned, the anger suddenly boiling under his skin. "And what's not fair about it? I'm not the one who ran away."

"If you'll remember correctly," she stated, her eyes flashing indignantly. "I wasn't the only one who ran away. You did just fine on your own."

"I took a vacation," House snapped, glowering. "I didn't change states and quit my job."

"Maybe I wouldn't have changed states if you hadn't _taken a vacation_," she returned, glaring at him. "But I guess we'll never know, will we?"

"I guess not," he bit, his eyes pools of hardened fire as he returned her glare.

They spent several seconds locked in a heated stare before Cameron blinked and looked at the floor. "I should go get Jake," she said, and House couldn't help but notice the tone of defeat that clouded her voice. "Miss Natalie wanted me to bring him home early today."

She glanced up at him then, and he could see a plethora of emotions reflected in her eyes. Hurt. Frustration. Dejection. And a hint of something left over from their tryst. Desire? The sight caused his chest to constrict in regret, but he quickly brushed that aside and kept his gaze hard. Unreadable. He couldn't let her get to him. Not when he wasn't even sure what the hell it was he wanted. Finally, Cameron sighed and nodded, then headed for the door, leaving House to stare after her long after she'd left the room.

* * *

**Typical Review Ploy. Feel free to skip.**

**Syphilis Lady:** Hello, dears. This strange young woman has asked me to write her a little poem. Now, it isn't as good as the one I wrote for Dr. House. Oh, but I could think about him for hours. _She stops and fans herself._ He's such a lovely young man. And those gorgeous blue eyes . . . That strong, powerful chest . . . Those lovely lips . . . _She clears her throat and looks sheepish._ Anyway, this is the poem I've written for her.

The reviewer with their magic powers  
Allows her to work on this story for hours  
Their honest reactions, their lovely concrit,  
Everything about them leaves her unable to quit  
Oh Reviewers, your very name  
Will never leave this writer the same

_She stops and smiles. _Well, I hope that helps. Now, where is that Dr. House?


	13. Clarity

_Cameron sat outside House's condo, her hands resting upon the steering wheel of her still-running car. After many heated internal monologues, she had finally convinced herself that she needed to tell House about the pregnancy. It wasn't like she was going to be able to hide it. He was sure to notice that she suddenly wasn't as thin as she used to be._

_Finally, she sighed and turned off the ignition. It was better to just get this over with. Like ripping a band-aid off of a wound. Besides, she wasn't even sure that he was going to be home._

_The thought worked to srengthen her resolve, and she finally opened the door and stepped out of the car. The cool night air caused her hair to flutter around her shoulders and her cheeks to turn pink as she made her way nervously up the sidewalk to House's front door. Along the way, she noticed his motorcycle parked precariously on the other side of the street, and her heart gave an anxious thump inside her chest._

_Nevertheless, she took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. And waited. _

_When she finally heard the noise of the dead bolt being slid from its locked position, her stomach tightened itself in a knot and she forced a smile onto her face._

"_Hey," he said when he opened the door to find her standing there, gripping her hands together as though she were holding onto a butterfly struggling to get free._

_She almost rolled her eyes at the nonchalance of the simple word, but stopped herself just in time. "Hey," she echoed. Then, when he continued to stare at her as if she were a wayward girlscout selling cookies, "Can I come inside?"_

_He quickly nodded his head and stepped aside so that she could maneuver herself through the doorway. No snark involved. It was only then that she realized how much the situation was affecting him. Still, this wasn't something she could just ignore. No matter how much the situation was affecting him. Consequently, she kept her resolve and entered his apartment, determined to talk._

* * *

House wasn't in a very good mood. All of the tests were coming back negative, he was running out of ideas, and Velma and Daphne weren't offering anything new. Add to that the fact that he kept remembering how Cameron's lips had felt underneath his own, how her body had molded itself to his touch, and that look in her eyes when they'd finally broken apart. Dark. Shining. Desirious. And every time he thought about it, his leg hurt that much more. If he wasn't careful, he'd be up to taking three vicodin at a time rather than his usual one or two.

Sighing, he tossed the marker back onto the ledge of the whiteboard, which he'd been attempting to decipher from the moment she'd left. This was getting him nowhere. Nothing was making sense, and the thoughts riddling his mind were making it that much worse. If he didn't do something soon, his patient was going to die and he couldn't help but feel that it was his fault for allowing himself to get so caught up in the drama that was his current life. No, he was going to have to do something that he avoided at all costs. Something akin to plunging himself through the straits of hell and knocking on the devil's very door. He was going to have to visit the patient. Where Mommy and Daddy would probably corner him by the bedside with threats of lawsuits, whilst Junior vomited down the front of his shirt. He so loved being a doctor.

Scowling at the thought, he turned from the whiteboard and began the death march (more of a death limp, actually) to the patient's room. But before he could reach it, the sound of petulant fighting stopped him in his tracks. Standing just outside the child's room were his parents, and they seemed to be involved in Deathcon 2.

"What does it matter to you how I'm taking care of our son?" Mrs. Annoying was squawking, the veins on her forehead standing out clear as day. "You never took an interest in him before this. Why start now?"

"Because now is the time that he's in the hospital," Mr. Annoying returned, his own face turning an interesting shade of red. "Maybe if you'd taken better care of him, he wouldn't be here in the first place."

"Maybe if you'd taken an interest in him rather than at that ridiculous job of yours, you would have been able to help."

At this, Mr. Annoying's eyes seemed to bug out of his head _(people looked so cool when they got angry)_, and he glared at his ex-wife. "Rosa doesn't seem to have a problem with my job," he said, gritting his teeth as he named his new girlfriend. "In fact, Rosa loves my job."

Mrs. Annoying seemed stung by these words. "That's not the only thing that Rosa loves," she countered. "But then what can you expect of that tra –"

At this point, House rolled his eyes and decided to interject. "Yeah, hi there," he said, stepping up to the bickering duo. "I'm really sorry to interrupt such a great fight, but I thought I'd treat your son. That is, if it's okay with you?"

"Excuse me?" Mr. Annoying turned his glare on House. "Who are you, anyway?"

"The orderly," House replied, his expression stoic. "Figured I'd try out these cool medical skills I've been learning."

"I'm sorry?" Mrs. Annoying asked, tearing herself away from looking at her ex in hurt and frustration.

House sighed. "I'm your kid's doctor," he said, short and to the point. "I need to take a look at him. And," he said, suddenly pensive after hearing their fight, "I need to ask you two some more questions."

Now the couple looked confused. "How come you haven't been to see him before now?" Mr. Annoying asked, and House could tell he was sharpening his lawsuit sword.

"I prefer to have my minions do the dirty work," House replied, irritated that it was taking so long to actually get into the kid's room. "You know? Meet patients. Deal with lawsuits. Get migraines. Frees me up so I can actually figure out what's wrong with the patient."

At this point, Mr. Annoying appeared to be ready to open his mouth once again – probably to deliver what he thought was a well-placed insult – but the sudden beeping of his son's machine stopped him. Turning his head sharply toward the patient's room, House's brow furrowed when he saw the patient seizing. Immediately, he began a running limp into the child's room.

"Push some Ativan," he shouted at the nurse who happened to follow him inside. "STAT!" Meanwhile, he grabbed hold of the child's shoulders and attempted to keep him from flailing off the bed.

"What's wrong with him?" his mother asked worriedly, running to her son's side and grasping his small hand. "What's happening?"

"I don't know," House grumbled, his mind once again reeling through all the possible diagnoses with the help of this latest puzzle piece. But he still couldn't fit his head around the diagnosis that had to be glaringly obvious by now. It was beginning to make him angry.

Finally, when the child had stopped seizing and started openly crying, falling into his mother's arms, House brought his hands back to his sides and looked up at the parents. "Is there anything else you haven't told us?" he asked them. "Any vacations you're recently taken? Medicines that you regularly give him? Playgroups that you take him to?"

"No," the mother shook her head, her face plagued with concern. "Nothing."

House glanced at the father, who was standing by the door and looking very much like he was holding back. "You do realize your kid's probably gonna die if you don't tell me everything, right?"

The words seemed to jolt the man, but he swallowed and replied, "No. There isn't anything else."

"You're sure?" House prodded, his eyes burning holes into the man's own.

Again, the man seemed to look a little jolted by the question, but again he shook his head. "I'm sure," he said.

Taking a deep breath, House let it out in a huff. "Fine," he said, pushing away from the child's bedside. "I'll see what I can figure out."

And with that, he left the room for another grueling session with his whiteboard, fully aware that the kid's dad was probably hiding something.

His leg was killing him.

* * *

_His leg was killing him._

_But that was nothing compared to the pain in his head. His jaw set, House took long-legged strides down the hallway, the purposefulness evident in his step. He had a bone to pick with a certain hospital administrator._

"_It's funny," he said, when he'd finally reached Cuddy's office and pushed open the door. "When you told me I needed to treat patients, I thought you meant that I was actually supposed to treat them."_

"_You're not performing that transplant," she replied, dropping her pen onto her stack of paperwork and crossing her arms over her chest. "It's too risky."_

"_Death is riskier." _

"_If you perform that procedure," Cuddy said, clearly unmoved, "He'll probably die."_

"_If we don't perform this procedure," House returned, "He'll probably die. His kidneys are failing. This is our only shot."_

"_Then I suggest you find another shot," Cuddy stated. "Because you're not doing it."_

"_Why not?" House cried. "Because Mommy and Daddy are threatening to sue the hospital?"_

"_No," Cuddy replied. "Because you don't even know what's wrong with him yet. You're just doing this procedure so that you can figure out what's wrong with him. He's a ten-year old kid, not a guinea pig."_

"_You're right," House shot. "He's ten. He doesn't deserve to die."_

_Cuddy sighed and returned his heated gaze. "Then I suggest you figure out some way to keep him alive."_

* * *

House closed his eyes and popped two vicodin, taking a deep breath as the cool night air whipped at his face and blew through his hair. It had been a long day, followed by an equally long evening. Finally, after several more hours pouring over past medical cases and attempting to decipher the possible cause of the patient's illness, he had wrapped himself in his leather jacket and grabbed his motorcycle helmet. And now, twenty minutes later, he was once again parked outside Cameron's new condo, staring at its elusive pattern of shadows and lights. Trying to wrap his mind around the chaos that had become his personal life, if he couldn't wrap it around the chaos that was his latest case.

It was midnight, so the lights inside the condo were turned off and he was sure that she had long since gone to bed. But somehow he had been drawn here, needing to work things out. Even if he wasn't ready to admit it to himself. Even if he wasn't ready to figure out what it was that he actually wanted. Even if he might never be ready to do either.

Even if maybe he wanted to be.

Sighing, he placed his helmet on the back of his bike and jammed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. And then, as the crickets chirped in the distance and his leg complained of its position on his bike, his mind began to wander once again.

* * *

_House slouched through his front door, his limp clearly more pronounced as he threw his jacket onto the piano bench. His jaw was working time with his steps, and his mind wouldn't quit working. He still wasn't entirely sure how his hour-long motorcycle ride had turned into a four-day vacation, but he knew that he was glad to have gotten away. To have escaped from the emotions Cameron was beginning to unearth, and the memories that were preying on his conscious. They were driving him mad, and the pain in his leg was becoming worse than it had been when he'd been suspended from the hospital._

_Gritting his teeth as another shock wave went through his thigh, he found himself looking toward the lock box that was currently resting on the top shelf of his home. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, taking in the box that could in turn take away his pain. Only that several moments later he began to limp toward it, and a moment after that he had pulled it down._

_And then someone was knocking on his front door. Sighing heavily, he whipped his head toward the sound and glared at the door, willing his unwelcome visitor to leave. Unfortunately, it seemed that his body had control over his mind, and a few minutes later he was putting the box on top of his jacket and trudging across the room to slide back the deadbolt and open the door._

_Cameron was standing on his front stoop._

_A shadow passed across his face as an objectionable pang resounded in his chest at the look of fear and sorrow? reflected in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself not to just wrap her in his arms. He wasn't ready for that. He wasn't sure what he was ready for, or if he was ready for anything. These last four days had shown him that. Instead, he allowed the shadow to remain upon his face. "Hey," he said, his voice depicting no emotion._

"_Hey," she echoed, gripping her hands together rather tightly. "Can I come in?"_

_He felt the sudden urge to turn her down, but instead he found himself nodding and moving aside so that she could enter._

"_Where have you been?" she asked, stepping inside. "I've been trying to reach you for four days."_

_The accusatory tone in her voice caused another pang to resound in his chest, this one more from annoyance and . . . anger? He wasn't sure. What right did he have to be angry with her? Whatever the reason, he didn't have much of a chance to think over this perplexity because she was looking at him now, resolution entering her eyes. "I took a vacation," he said, his face still betraying little emotion._

"_And you decided not to tell me about it?" she prodded, and now he could see the irritation reflected in her eyes._

_Whether he had the right to feel angry or not, he was definitely getting there. "I didn't realize I was supposed to tell you my every move," he returned, crossing his arms over his chest. "Should I fill out a date book? Maybe I could enter each of my appointments and give them to you for approval. I've always wanted a sex-retary."_

_For some reason, these words caused Cameron to become unusually upset. "I thought you said this wasn't just about the sex," she replied, crossing her own arms over her chest._

"_What can I say?" House replied flippantly. "Everybody lies."_

"_So you're telling me this has all been one big game," Cameron stated, looking at him in hurt and ire. "That this hasn't meant anything to you?"_

_He swallowed, returning her heated gaze. He knew he should stop now, tell her that he had lied about lying. But he didn't. "If that's what you want to believe," he said instead, regretting his decision the moment the words were out of his mouth. He was considering saying something witty, trying to change the subject and putting an end to this fight, when Cameron pursed her lips and redirected her gaze to the side of the room._

_She froze when she saw the lock box sitting atop his piano bench. "What's that?" she asked, although it was clear that she knew the answer._

"_A metal box," he replied simply, cursing himself for keeping it out._

_But it wasn't enough for Cameron. Furrowing her brow, she stepped over to the bench and grabbed the box, opening it. "I thought you stopped using this," she said, her tone emerging strange and distant. When House didn't answer, she looked up from the box. The look reflected in her eyes now caused him to swallow and furrow his own brow as his chest constricted. "What happened to therapy?"_

"_It wasn't working," he said shortly, the look on his face becoming more unreadable._

"_Did you even give it a try?" she prodded, the lock box still clutched tightly in her hand. "Or did you just decide that it wasn't going to work?"_

"_What the hell do you care?" he snapped, becoming irritated by the constant questioning. "It doesn't have anything to do with you."_

"_It has everything to do with me!" she cried, slamming the box back onto the bench and advancing on him. "We're seeing each other, House. Do you know what that means? We're starting a relationship."_

"_That's funny," House replied. "I thought we were just having lots of great sex."_

* * *

A sudden pang resounded in House's chest as the memory came flooding back to him in a moment of clarity. No wonder Cameron had left. He had been a complete and total ass. He furrowed his brow, narrowed his eyes, swallowed. And then he looked across to street to her condo and realized that her lights were back on.

* * *

_No review ploys this time, kiddies. If you're good, however, you'll get Wilson playing House's fool next chapter. ;-)_


	14. Let Go

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you to Tiffany and Shane for the great beta, and to GabbyAbby for the starting line of snark. ;-) Also, apologies that it's been so long in coming. This chapter was rather complex, and it took me quite awhile to write. Consequently, there will be no review ploys this time, but I do promise to honor diagnosticmad's request to have Wilson playing House's fool in the next chapter. Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

* * *

_What does she have? _House thought._ An automatic pager which automatically alerts her to my presence? _ He briefly considered driving off before she could call his cell _(that did seem to be her method)_, but for some reason he found himself unable to start the engine. Instead, he sighed heavily and allowed his head to fall back onto his shoulders so that his chin tilted upward to the starry sky. The memory of the moment before continued to weave itself through his mind, taunting him with its clarity. _That's funny. I thought we were just having lots of great sex._ He always had been great with relationships.

The problem was, he wasn't sure where this left him. In fact, he had to admit that he was more confused than before. For the past two years – hell, for the past _eight_ years – he'd pretty much shut himself off to every relationship conceivable. He'd become an expert at dodging the inevitable. From shutting Cameron down on their first date _(he'd been an asshole then, too)_ to pushing her out of his life two years ago . . . What made him think anything was going to change now?

Pursing his lips, he shook his head slowly back and forth as the thought dawned on him that maybe he wanted things to change. Maybe he wanted this. He had spent so long closed off to everything. Not letting anyone in, cutting anyone down who even tried. Ending everything before it had started. Though he was reluctant to admit it, the last few weeks had felt almost like the start of something. The kid . . . Jake . . . His son. He swallowed hard as the innocent blue eyes flashed through his mind and a twinge prickled in his chest.

Then he thought about Cameron. Allison Cameron. He didn't know what it was about her. She annoyed him to no end, with her niceties and her endless platitudes of love, acceptance and good will toward all. She was everything that he had rallied against. For Christ's sake, she was a Disney character brought to life. Just slap on the Minnie Mouse ears and sign her up for a cartoon.

So why was it that he couldn't stop thinking about her? The feel of her lips as they'd kissed in his office. The warmth of her body as he'd held her in his arms. That goddamned smile of hers, and the way she bit her bottom lip when things became too tense. That ridiculous do-gooder attitude which she had insisted on keeping, no matter how many times he'd tried to tear it out of her. _(It wasn't good. Being a doctor was painful, and being a do-gooder opened doctors up that much more.)_ Everything about her contradicted everything about him. She had been the bane of his life's plan from the moment he'd hired her . . . and the hope of his existence for just as long. God, he was turning into a Disney character himself.

He had spent two years trying to convince himself that she hadn't meant anything to him, and he'd failed miserably. Instead, he'd become even more bitter and withdrawn, chased away three new staff members _(of course, that had been fun)_, and blamed her for it all. Now he realized that he'd been wrong _(he supposed it had to happen once a millennia)_, and he had no clue what he was supposed to do about it. He only knew that he was tired of shutting out the world. He was tired of shutting out Cameron. And he was tired of sitting on the back of his bike in the freezing cold, with his leg protesting violently while he contemplated the past two years.

Exhaling sharply, he lowered his head so that he was gazing across the street at the now-lit condo. Funny, his cell phone hadn't rung yet. Perhaps her alarm was broken? The thought brought an unbidden smirk to his lips as he studied the pattern of lights reflected in her home. And noticed that one of those lights happened to be coming from Jake's room.

Furrowing his brow, he pushed back the sleeve of his leather jacket and checked his watch. Half past midnight. Why on earth would the kid's light be on right now? Was he sick? Hurt? Had he taken another dive out of his crib? A sudden knot formed in House's stomach as he considered the possibilities. Finally, he pushed himself off his bike and unsnapped his cane, then began limping toward the condominium. If something was wrong with his son, he wanted to know about it.

* * *

When Cameron opened the door, the knot in House's stomach immediately doubled in size and his forehead creased. Wearing a silky calve-length robe (which would have been very distracting under different circumstances), her tired hazel eyes were framed by a tangle of hair piled haphazardly on top of her head. A cranky Jake was cuddled restlessly in her arms, whimpering irritably and rubbing his bright blue eyes with tiny fists.

"House?" Cameron queried, gazing at him in puzzlement as Jake shifted in her arms at the sound of his father's voice. _("Dada.")_ "What are you doing here?"

"Well, you know," House replied, a pang resounding in his chest at the sight of his son's watery blue eyes. "I was having a hard time sleeping and figured it was either this, or stay up all night watching those really cool infomercials. The informercials were a shoo in, of course, but then I realized that I was out of coffee so I came here instead."

"I'm so glad to hear we're number one on your list," Cameron replied dryly, still blocking the entrance to her home. "Unfortunately, we're out of coffee, so . . ."

"What's wrong with the kid?" House asked, nodding toward Jake and ignoring Cameron's closed-off stance. Or attempting to, at any rate. She wasn't making it very easy in that robe of hers. He couldn't help but notice that the neckline had dipped, bearing her right shoulder.

"He can't get to sleep," she replied. "He's had a pretty difficult month."

Her gaze was almost as pointed as her tone, causing a half-mask to waft over House's features. This definitely wasn't going to be as easy as he'd hoped. He shifted uncomfortably on the porch, his shoulders slouching a little as he met her eyes. He groped for something to say – he'd be damned if he was going to leave that easily – but for once the words made themselves scarce.

Luckily, Jake decided to help his father out. Stirring in his mother's arms, he fixed House with a pitiable look and held out his tiny plump arms. "Dada hold?" he whimpered, leaning toward his father.

House's chest constricted a little at the sight, but he forced himself to keep his arms by his sides. "I don't know, kid," he said, fixing Cameron with his own pointed look. "I seem to be in the middle of Ice Wars the Ultimate Showdown."

Cameron sighed and rolled her eyes. "Would you like to come in, House?" she asked in resignation, glancing at her son. He was still determinedly reaching out for his father _("Dada hold?")_, and she didn't like exposing him to the cool outdoors.

"Why, what a nice invitation," he replied, feigning delight at the offer. "Frankly, the idea hadn't even occurred to me."

"Right," Cameron responded, stepping aside so that House could enter condominium. "Because people often make late night house calls to stand on the front porch."

"I didn't realize you were such an expert," House stated, taking a struggling Jake from her arms. "Get a lot of late night callers?"

"Actually, yes," Cameron replied dryly, running her fingers through her son's brown curls. "Lately I seem to have gained a stalker. Dark hair, scraggly chin, walks with a cane. Perhaps you know him?"

House adjusted his weight on his cane and pretended to contemplate. "Hmm . . . Sounds familiar. Have you tried a restraining order?"

"Something tells me it wouldn't do any good," Cameron said, taking a seat on the nearest couch. "This stalker doesn't seem to want to follow the rules."

"Those are the worst kind," House replied knowledgeably, taking her cue and limping awkwardly toward the ottoman. Jake had wound his arms tightly around his father's neck, and House wasn't used to the extra weight.

"Don't I know it," Cameron replied, sitting forward on the couch and clasping her hands in her lap.

She might have said more, but at that moment Jake turned weary eyes on his father. "Juicey?" he whined dejectedly, his lower lip jutting out to an alarming angle.

"I'll get it," Cameron said. She pushed herself off of the couch and headed into the kitchen while House's eyes remained riveted on his son. If the diagnostician had been told a month before that a kid would worm his way into his heart, he would have laughed and sent them to the psych ward. But now . . . He really needed to see someone for Stockholm Syndrome.

Cameron returned a minute later with the juice and handed it to an eager Jake. "Here you go, sweetie," she said, once again running her fingers over her son's fine curls. _("Juicey!" he said happily, his tears forgotten.)_

House finally glanced away from the kid and looked up at Cameron. "How long has he been having trouble sleeping?" the doctor in him asked.

"A few days," Cameron replied, crossing the room and retaking her seat on the couch. "Like I said, it's been a difficult month."

"Why didn't you tell me?" House found himself asking before he had actually put thought to the words._Why do I care?_

"It's a little hard to tell someone something when they're avoiding you like the plague," Cameron responded, her expression guarded yet contemplative. "Besides, I didn't think you'd be interested."

"Well, I am," House said, again not putting thought to the words.

"Okay," Cameron replied, arching a brow. "I'll make sure to tell you next time."

"Good," House nodded. In truth, he had no idea why he was so interested. Perhaps this was a symptom of Stockholm Syndrome? He'd have to check the DSM-IV. At the moment, however, he was too busy cradling his son, who had placed his head on his father's shoulder the moment he'd finished his juicey. Shifting in the ottoman, he maneuvered his legs so that they lay atop the foot rest and then leaned back against the chair, settling Jake's head underneath the crook of his chin.

The next few minutes encompassed an awkward silence, during which time House absentmindedly rubbed his hand over Jake's small back and Cameron sat forward on the couch, cross-legged and tense. Every time House glanced in her direction, she appeared to be deep in contemplation. "So," he finally said, tired of the tension, "How's work?"

The question jarred Cameron from her thoughts, causing her to jump a little and whip her head in his direction. "I'm sorry?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

The corner of House's lip curled upward into a smirk, and he considered for a moment returning with a wisecrack. Nothing came to mind, however, and the situation really didn't call for it anyway. Instead: "How's work?" he repeated in a low tone of voice, not wanting to disturb the child who was fast on his way to slumber. When the hell had he become such a family man?

Cameron blinked, perhaps a little surprised by his interest. "Fine," she said. "How about you?"

"Good," House lied, not feeling like reiterating his latest case. His face hardened for a moment, just thinking about it. Then, in his habitual way of hiding his discomfort, he returned with a joke. "When I'm not being cornered in my office by gorgeous women, anyway."

Okay, that hadn't been the right thing to say. The moment it had left his lips, his stomach muscles clenched as the memory of the day before came rushing back. Meanwhile, a mask fell upon Cameron's features and she averted her gaze so that she was looking at the ground. Awkward silence reigned once again. Finally, Cameron took a deep breath and glanced up at House's ear. "I'll get us some coffee," she said, before pushing herself off of the couch and hurrying into the kitchen for the second time that night.

House sighed and twisted his lips, silently wondering when the awkwardness would come to an end. It wasn't good for his complexion. Or his sleep, he thought as he looked down at his son. His brows arched when he realized that the child had actually fallen asleep. Unbidden, his lips curled into a smile as an entirely unfamiliar expression of tenderness wafted across his features. "Yeah, I have that effect on a lot of people," he said to the toddler, smirking.

Glancing toward the kitchen, he decided he'd better put the kid to bed before Cameron returned and things got hairy. Ineptly maneuvering himself out of the chair with use of his good leg and one hand (the other busy holding the child), he began an awkward gait down the hallway. Canes were definitely not built for parenting, he decided as he attempted to put Jake into his crib and the child shifted slightly in his sleep.

"Okay, kid," he said after he'd finally gotten him into his bed and pulled a blanket up to his chin. "Try not to head dive out of your crib this time." An increasingly familiar feeling of warmth filled his chest as he looked down at his tiny slumbering son. "Night, Jake," he whispered.

When he left the room, he found Cameron waiting for him in the hall with serious eyes and a cup of coffee. "We need to talk," she said quietly.

* * *

_Since making his knee jerk statement _("That's funny. I thought were just having lots of great sex.")_, Cameron had become unusually quiet. Laying the lockbox back onto the bench, she slowly moved her hand so that it rested upon her abdomen, then took a deep, shaky breath. "We need to talk," she said quietly._

_House could hear hints of both resignation and reluctance in her voice, and they caused him to pause. He knew that any talking would not be in his favor, but he also knew that the determination etched across Cameron's features brooked no exception. Besides, he was sick of arguing. He wanted it done. "About?" he finally asked, his tone clipped._

_She was silent for a few seconds longer. When she did speak, she did so with resolve. "I'm going home," she said. "Back to Connecticut. I . . . I need a break."_

_House stared at her for a long moment, taking in her words. "Why?" he asked, his blue eyes boring into her own hazel._

"_I need a break," she repeated, subconsciously fanning her fingers over her abdomen. "Our relationship is volatile, House."_

"_So you're just going to run away," he demanded. "Because you can't handle things?"_

"_No," Cameron returned. "I'm going home because _you_ can't handle things. You're the one who just took a four day vacation and didn't tell me where you were going. You're the one who's been hiding his morphine use for the past two months. You told me you'd stopped."_

"_I was in pain," he retorted. "When – "_

_But Cameron had heard that argument far too often. "When you're in pain, you do something about it," she cut him off. "You don't just grab the nearest illegal drug and shoot up."_

"_I was doing something about it," he growled. "I was numbing the pain."_

"_You were numbing yourself," she returned. "So that you wouldn't have to face up to everything that's happened. So that you wouldn't have to admit that you wanted it to happen."_

"_Oh, grow up, Cameron," he snapped, hating himself for saying it but unable to stop. "You think that just because you live in this perfect fairy tale world, everything's going to come out sunshine and daisies? It doesn't work that way."_

_He expected her to deliver a classic Cameron retort. Tell him to get over it, tell him to grow up, tell him to stop being a jerk. He didn't expect – nix that, he didn't want – for her to take a deep breath and fix him with an expression of hurt and utter resolve. "Fine," she said quietly. "It doesn't work that way. I'm going home."_

_The sheer finality of the words struck a chord deep within him. "What if I refuse to give you a leave of absence?" he asked, his hardened features betraying a hint of vulnerability._

"_It's not your call," she replied, looking at the ground. "You're on suspension."_

_Again, the words cut deep and he winced at their impact. Deciding that he didn't feel like going into the wherefores of his current situation, he chose to change tactics. "How long?" he demanded, his fingers tightening around his cane._

"_I'm not sure," she answered. "Two months? Maybe three? I'll talk to Cuddy, get things set up."_

"_What if I need to replace you?" he asked, grasping at straws. How the hell did he tell her to stay when he wasn't ready to admit that he needed her to do so? "We're used to having three doctors."_

_She took a deep breath and looked up at him with a gaze conveying a thousand emotions yet hiding them in equal parts. "You'll have to do what you have to do," she replied softly, just before they locked eyes and the masked emotions began to swelter. If he had realized then what the problem was – that the situation had struck such a deep chord that she had found herself backed into a corner with nowhere to turn -- he might have been able to say the right thing, do the right thing, touch her in just the right way to get her to stay. The problem was, it didn't occur to him and even if it had, he didn't know if he would have done anything about it. _

_He wasn't ready to admit that he cared, wasn't ready to admit that she meant something to him. Admitting that it wasn't all about sex had been one thing, but this . . . This was entirely different, and far too much far too soon. Letting her go would be the best thing for the both of them._

_By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late. Blame and denial came much more naturally than admission and acceptance._

* * *

The memory ricocheted with amazing force as he studied the look in her eyes. "You've really got to work on some new lines," he told her, ignoring the offered coffee cup and moving past her into the hall. "'We need to talk' is just so yesterday."

"Well, we do," she insisted, following after him. He could hear the tension in her voice, and it served to increase the tension in his neck.

"I'm a little busy at the moment," House replied, continuing his descent down the hallway in an attempt to get away from the memory that was pecking at his mind. "Why don't you call my secretary and set up an appointment."

"House," she wheedled as they came into the living room. "Would you cut it out and turn around?"

Actually, he preferred _not_ looking at her. Eye contact allowed for acknowledgment, and he had a feeling that he didn't want to hear what she was going to say.

Unfortunately, when he didn't turn around she continued her discussion anyway. "We're moving back to Connecticut," she said seriously.

It was all she said, yet that simple statement hung between them like a quickly tightening noose and House's stomach took a sudden dive. His hand tightening around his cane to the point of turning his knuckles white, his lips becoming the thinnest of lines, he finally turned around. "I'm sorry," he said in a deathly quiet tone. "The idiocy in the room must be damaging my hearing. It sounded almost like you said you were moving back to Connecticut."

Cameron's lips pursed at the comment about idiocy, but she opted to ignore it. Instead, she elaborated her statement. "Things aren't working out," she said.

House stared hard at her. "So you're just going to run away," he stated. "Again."

"That's not fair," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest and looking distinctly uncomfortable. _Good._ "You saw how Jake was tonight. He's been having trouble sleeping, he's been misbehaving, I can't find a baby-sitter that I trust, and even Miss Natalie is saying that she's ready to revoke his acceptance into nursery school. It's not good for him."

"Something that you should have thought of before you moved him here," House retorted, the fingers clasped around his cane beginning to ache from their tight grasp. "Do you really think moving him back now is going to do any good?"

"Yes," Cameron said. Then: "No." She sighed. "I don't know. But at least in Connecticut, he has my mom and Shelly. He has a school that I trust, and he has friends. Here, we're trying to start from scratch and things just aren't working."

"Yeah, things have an awful way of doing that when you don't give them a chance," House returned. "Funny how that works out."

His acidic tone caused Cameron to blanch, and a look of indignance emerged upon her features. "Funny how you suddenly care when you've been avoiding us ever since we got here."

"You didn't give me a chance," he shot. "You just came barreling into my life with this kid and this secret, and you expected me to suddenly be Father of the Year. It doesn't work that way."

"How does it work, House?" she demanded. "Am I supposed to sit and wait for you to come around? To let my son suffer because his father can't get over himself? To let you kiss me in your office and then act like we're complete strangers? Tell me, House, because I'm honestly confused here."

Staring at her through narrowed blue eyes and furrowed brow, he let her words wash over him. He didn't have a clue how it was supposed to work. He didn't even know what the hell he was supposed to say. It felt like the carpet had just been pulled out from under his feet, and now he was left grasping at straws. "You give it a chance," he said, his words clipped. "You don't just run away."

"I'm not running away," she reiterated through clenched jaw. "I'm trying to help my son. And would you keep your voice down? He just fell asleep."

"There's more to this than just trying to help Jake," House persisted, although in a quieter tone. "You're running away because you can't handle things."

"No," she returned. "I'm moving back to Connecticut because _you_ can't handle things. You're the one who's been avoiding us for the past three weeks. You're the one who's acting like a complete stranger."

"I was confused," he retorted. "You –"

But Cameron wasn't buying it. "So instead of doing something about it, you just avoided the situation hoping it would go away?"

"I guess we're more alike than we thought," he growled.

Cameron sighed in frustration. "Why is it so important that we stay?" she demanded. "Is it about Jake? Because I'm not going to take him away from you. You can visit him whenever you like."

"This has nothing to do with that," House retorted. Though he couldn't elaborate. Why exactly was it so important to him that they stay? Cameron was right. For the past three weeks, he'd done nothing but avoid them and wish the chaos would come to an end. Now suddenly he wanted nothing more than for them to stay under foot in New Jersey? What the hell was wrong with him?

So when Cameron returned with, "What does it have to do with, House?" he had no answer for her. And when she shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair in clear frustration, he remained silent, staring at her hard through masked features.

"It's late," she finally said. "I need to sleep."

"So that's it?" he demanded, still reeling from his thoughts and her sudden announcement. "You're just going to leave?"

"Unless you can give me a reason why it's so important to you that we stay," she said, and he heard the challenge in her voice. She was giving him an opening. If he could say the right thing, perhaps admit that he'd been an idiot, he might be able to convince her to stay. He opened his mouth, expecting words to emerge. They didn't. He tried again, but again the words didn't come. When the hell had he became inefficient with words?

After his third failed attempt, Cameron sighed. "I'm tired, House," she repeated. "I need to sleep."

He realized then that after almost a month of fighting tooth and nail to get him to accept the situation, she was finally giving up and doing what she believed to be best for everyone involved. And he didn't have a thing to say about it. Okay, maybe he did; but frankly, he didn't know if he wanted to. He wasn't a father figure. He was a miserable old man who had no business being anywhere near children unless they had stuffed up noses or high grade fevers. As for anything else . . . Well, that had ended even before it had started. Letting her leave probably _was_ better for everyone.

So instead of allowing the words to emerge, he stared at her for a long moment before finally nodding. "Fine," he said. And even though a very large part of his subconscious was screaming at him to say something – anything – an even larger part was telling him to keep quiet. Which was why he furrowed his brow and headed for the door, an indenfinable ache resounding in his chest with amazing force.

His leg was killing him.

**Reviews are like vicodin!**


	15. The Beginning of the End

_House settled himself in his leather armchair, resting his head against the backrest so that he could gaze up at the ceiling. Night was just beginning to fade, and vague early morning light attempted to peek in through the blinds. Sighing heavily, House closed his eyes in an effort to block out the intruding sun and quiet the onslaught of thoughts forcing their way into his mind._

_He tried to remember when he'd ventured into Dante's Inferno. True, the last few months had been difficult. Stacy. Mark, the Wonder Boy. The illicit affair _(he still didn't know what he had been thinking)_. The mind numbing darkness that had followed. And more recently, the case which refused to be solved. The case which would never be solved. The patient had died earlier that morning, and his parents refused to allow an autopsy. Apparently, he was lucky they weren't suing. If he had a dime for every time a patient threatened to sue . . ._

_Of course, the Queen of Cleavage had been howling at him for the last few days, certain that his diagnosis had been wrong and he'd been too busy mooning over the past to actually do his job. He had threatened a call to the animal control to report a rabid dog, but even that hadn't gotten his point across. Gotta love hospital bureaucracy._

_So he had an unsolved case, an irate hospital administrator, and the pain in his leg was becoming unbearable. Worse, the vicodin was no longer working and Cuddy refused to administer any more morphine treatments. Something about it being against hospital regulations to give a patient morphine when they didn't really need it. He had gotten lost in the idiocy._

_Not that it was going to stop him. If he couldn't focus on his work, then he couldn't do his job. And the sharp, hot stabbing pain in his leg dictated a definite inability to do his job. So he'd been relying on his extra stash of morphine to get him through the day. As he planned to do now._

_Unfortunately, he must have botched the measurements. As the medicinal fluid rushed from the site of injection through his veins, a numbing warmth settled throughout his entire being like a fluffy white cloud. Soon, however, the cloud became dark and reality began to fade. It was only when he woke a few hours later to find Cameron leaning over him in a panic that he realized he'd accidentally overdosed._

The memory of the beginning hit him like a ton of bricks, unwelcome and daunting in its own right. Their relationship began as a botched measurement, and it was only fitting that it would end as a botched attempt. As he trudged into the hospital four days after Cameron's little announcement, exhausted and moody, he attempted to ignore the thought. His leg hurt like hell, and no amount of vicodin was taking away the pain. He had briefly considered filching Wilson's medical pad and writing a prescription for more morphine, but he hadn't actually felt the drive to do so. He didn't need to repeat past mistakes, no matter how badly his leg hurt.

Besides, he'd been avoiding Wilson like the plague for the past few days. From the annoying serious puppy dog looks he'd been giving him, he was pretty sure he'd heard about Cameron's latest news, and the last thing he needed was Jimmy breathing down his neck in the name of all that was good and holy. He might try to force him to shine his halo or something, and then where would they be?

He was already spending every night at his keyboard, trying to forget about the fact that ever since Tuesday night, he'd had a gaping hole inside his chest. What had begun as an indefinable, forceful ache had spent the last four days growing into the Great Chasm of Numbing Indecision. He'd actually gotten on his bike and headed to Cameron's six times in the last four days. But every time he'd made it anywhere near her street, he'd taken a quick U-Turn and headed back in the opposite direction, berating himself along the way. What the hell was he playing at? He had nothing more to say to her. He'd already decided that this was for the best. She should have never moved back to New Jersey in the first place. She should have stayed in the comfortable cocoon that was Connecticut and left him to his miserable, crotchety self. Then maybe he wouldn't have had to realize how much he was missing.

Jabbing the up button on the elevator three times in rapid succession, he leaned heavily on his cane and stared hard at the tiled ground. Ever since she had come back, he'd spent the better part of his time reliving old memories and losing sleep. His leg hurt like hell, his life was a mess, and his body was a jumble of nerves. He should be damn glad they were finally leaving, yet here he was thinking about how much he was going to miss them when they were gone.

Stepping into the elevator and quickly punching the number seven, he leaned against the cool metal wall as the last two nights weighed heavily on his mind. The lack of sleep he'd experienced over the last three weeks were nothing compared to the last four days. He hadn't slept a wink. Instead, he'd repeatedly played Beethoven's _Tempest_ while attempting to forget about Cameron and the kid and focus instead on his latest case. Thinking about them wasn't going to do his patient any good.

Speaking of the patient, he was quickly fading. No matter what he and his team did, he wasn't getting any better. It had been ascertained that the TB test was, in fact, positive. But he wasn't responding well to TB meds, which left House with the notion that something else was going on as well. That, and the fact that a normally healthy kid didn't just start dying from tuberculosis. But what was the underlying cause?

Something told him that Daddy Dearest had the missing puzzle piece, but he wasn't budging. He was adamant that the kid had been the picture of health, but had suddenly been stricken ill by dark and sinister forces that had nothing to do with his utter inability to parent. The twenty-something Latina who had taken to sitting on his lap during down time, however, begged to differ. It was interesting, actually. Daddy spent more time with his new piece _(who incidentally could speak very little Inglès)_ than paying attention to his ex-wife and their dying son. No wonder he didn't have time to spill the missing pieces.

He had considered whacking him repeatedly in the shins with his cane, but then Cuddy might get upset and who wanted to deal with that? She was already getting annoying. For the last few days, she'd been breathing down his throat in a manner that was eerily similar to the Wicked Witch from the Wizard of Oz. He'd begun to wonder if she'd go away if he doused her with water.

He was just deciding that he needed to have a more aggressive session of Q & A with Father Knows Best when he entered his office and came to a quick eyebrow quirking stop. Foreman, Chase, and Cuddy were gathered around the conference room and staring at him in what could only be described as serious consternation. Great. The last thing he needed was an intervention by the wicked witch and the trained monkeys.

"Where have you been?" Cuddy asked, stepping to the forefront. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago."

His neck tensing in annoyance, House pretended to check his watch. "Damn," he said, shaking his wrist. "I keep meaning to have this thing fixed."

"If you can't be here on time, you need to give us a call," Cuddy instructed as though she were speaking to a five-year old.

"I'm sorry, Mommy," House replied. "I promise to try harder next time."

Sighing heavily, Cuddy crossed her arms over her chest. "Your patient's in a coma," she announced.

House's stomach knotted at the announcement, and his brow furrowed. The missing puzzle piece was becoming more elusive. "The only way he'd go into a coma is if the TB had spread to his brain. It hasn't," he stated.

"Then I guess you've got the wrong diagnosis," Cuddy replied, the frustration evident in her tone. "Again."

"It isn't the wrong diagnosis," House returned. "The tests have come back positive."

"Well, then you're missing something," Cuddy retorted. "Whatever the case, you've got to do better."

The words were like an irritating slap in the face, and he decided he'd had enough of evil wenches. "Did you hear something?" House asked his team. "It sounded almost like one of those high pitched cackles."

"Cute," Cuddy retorted. "Not as cute as losing the hospital in a lawsuit would be, though."

"Oh, relax," House replied. "They're not going to sue us. They just like blowing smoke out of their asses."

"Of course not," Cuddy said. "Why would they sue the hospital that single-handedly killed their only son?"

"Because Daddy's too busy fornicating to care," House replied. "Here's an idea. Why don't you go help him out? I'm sure he'd jump at the chance for a threesome."

"Cut the crap, House," Cuddy snapped, glowering at him. "And figure out what's wrong with the patient before I take you off the case."

"Great idea," House returned, his jaw muscles becoming tight. "Unless, of course, you actually want the kid to live."

Cuddy opened her mouth to retort when Foreman finally cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Apparently, he had decided that the last thing they needed was for the patient to die while House and Cuddy compared testosterone levels. "What would put a TB patient in a coma?" he queried, staring thoughtfully at the whiteboard.

"Gee, I don't know," House replied, turning his attention to his best friend. "Maybe the same thing that would give him acute renal failure? Oh, wait. They haven't invented that disease yet."

The neurologist shot his boss an "TB can damage the kidneys," Foreman spoke up from his perch on the conference room table. "It's possible that it could lead to acute renal failure."

"It's also possible that your shoes are ugly," House replied, and Foreman shot him a Look. "But you don't hear me saying anything about that."

"House," Cuddy warned.

"Hasn't someone dropped a building on you yet?" House shot back, leading Cuddy's glare to harden. Okay, this wasn't helping matters. But frankly, he didn't care. He was beyond annoyed, his leg was killing him, and he couldn't think of a single explanation for why the meds weren't working on this kid. Unless, of course, the diagnosis _had_ been wrong, which would only result in one pissed off hospital administrator and one very dead kid. Neither of which House was in the mood to deal with.

"Foreman, Chase," he ordered, "Up his meds and do a PET scan. If this thing's attacking this kid's brain, I want to know everything that's happening."

"That's your answer?" Cuddy prodded. "A PET scan and increased medication? House, this kid's on his death bed. You've obviously got the wrong diagnosis. If we don't do something soon, then –"

"What are you going to do?" House snapped, exasperated. "Annoy me until the kid dies? Somehow I don't think that's going to stop Mommy and Daddy from suing."

They stared at each other for a long moment, Cuddy with pursed lips and House with narrowed eyes. Finally, however, she took a deep breath and backed down. "Fine," she said. "Just figure out what's wrong with him or I'm assigning another doctor to his case." With that, she gave him one last pointed look before turning heel and heading for the door.

The moment she was gone, House turned back to the whiteboard and narrowed his eyes at the list of symptoms. Something was missing. Okay, the kid had finally tested positive for TB . . . But up until that point, he'd been fairly healthy. His brow furrowed as he considered the next question. So how did a normally healthy kid come down with a case of TB? It was almost as if . . .

Unfortunately, he was interrupted in his pondering when Wilson came striding through the door. Sighing heavily, House attempted to ignore him. Maybe he'd get the hint and go away.

Unfortunately, Wilson never had been one for subtle innuendoes. "Have you talked to her yet?" he broached, perching himself on the edge of the conference table.

"I'm sorry," House replied, still not turning from the whiteboard. "I'm a little busy right now. Why don't you take a number?"

Wilson ignored the comment. "Did you really expect her to stick around while you hid away in your office? She deserves better than that."

"You know, Jimmy," House replied, his stomach muscles clenching at his friend's words, "I think there might be something wrong with your tongue. It keeps moving."

"I think there might be something wrong with your head," Wilson retorted. "It keeps deluding you into thinking that you don't need people."

House took a deep breath and let it out in one quick, sharp exhalation. "Is this the part where you tell me that if I just embrace humanity and give lollipops to small children, then all will be forgiven and I'll live happily ever after? Because I've lost my remote control, so I can't fast forward."

"No," Wilson said, pushing himself out of his chair and advancing on the stubborn diagnostician. "This is the part where I tell you that you're being an idiot."

"Where is the mute button when you need it?" House quipped, meeting Wilson's hardened gaze.

"You're making jokes," Wilson stated, shaking his head. "You're about to lose not only your son, but the only woman whose meant anything to you in years all because you're too stubborn to do anything about it, and you're making jokes."

Now House was getting angry. "What am I supposed to do?" he snapped. "Chain myself to her car with a stick of dynamite so that she can't leave?"

"Gee, I don't know," Wilson replied, becoming irritated himself. "Why don't you try telling her how you feel?"

"Well, let's see," House retorted, deciding that denial was the best course of action. "I'm a little tired. My leg hurts like hell. Oh, and there's an annoying presence that I can't seem to get rid of. Do you think I should try an exorcism?"

Wilson exhaled in annoyance. "I think you should try admitting you're in love with her and it would actually be a bad thing if she left, then take it from there."

House stared at him for a long moment, the words slowly sinking into his mind. "Who says I'm in love with her?" he asked, knowing what the answer would be but playing dumb nonetheless.

"I don't know, House," Wilson returned. "Maybe it's because she's the first woman you've opened up to in eight years. And ever since she left the first time, you've been more of a miserable ass than usual. Or it could be the fact that since she came back, you've been almost human. Take your pick."

Okay, maybe Wilson was right. But what right did he have to keep her here? To snare both Cameron and his son into a life of misery? "I'm sorry," he said instead. "I didn't get that. I was distracted by the rousing rendition of "'If I Only Had a Brain.'"

Wilson scoffed and pursed his lips. "Too bad you weren't listening to the equally rousing rendition of "'If I Only Had a Heart,'" he finally said. "Because then maybe you'd realize that if you let her go, this is it. You're not going to get a second chance. You're always going to be a miserable bastard, and nothing you do is ever going to change that."

"What right do I have to keep her here?" House snapped, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, give me a break," Wilson snapped back. "Not only are you the father of her son, if you opened your eyes long enough, you'd realize that she's in love with you, too. You're both just too stubborn to admit it."

House opened his mouth, prepared to deliver a stinging retort. "If she wants to go back to humidity and mosquitoes –" And then he stopped and his eyes widened as a thought emerged in his mind.

"House?" Wilson queried after a moment, all too aware of what the look in his eyes meant.

But House didn't answer him. Instead, he beat a hasty retreat toward his office door and his patient's room. He had an idea.

Okay. I promised Wilson acting like a fool, and I shall give you Wilson acting like a fool. After that, the review ploy shall be retired. I think I've subjected you folks to my scary mind enough. ;-)

_We are transported to a theatre on the backlot, which is for some reason playing host to a number of tiny patients. Wait. Are those . . . munchkins? Yes. Yes, they are. And they appear to be singing. Hmm . . . Whatever the case, it is not the munchkins that I am interested with. It is the man standing center stage, who looks surprisingly like the scarecrow. He is scowling heavily._

**Wilson: **_(calling)_ House?

**House: **_(enters stage right, a gleeful smirk immediately spreading across his face)_ You called, Jimmy?

**Wilson: **_(the scowl deepening)_ Why exactly am I dressed up like a character from the Wizard of Oz?

**House: **No idea. But do you think you could say 'hi' to the wizard for me? I'd love a supply of lollipops.

**Wilson: **_(in a warning tone of voice) _House . . .

_Unfortunately, he is unable to continue. Little does he know, I am sitting in my favorite easy chair, typing up a song. _

_Cue music to "If I Only Had a Brain."_

_Wilson begins to sing, his feet jutting out in an odd dance as if on their own accord while he glares at a rather jubilant House._

**Wilson:**_ (singing)_

She could write away for hours  
Typin' up the chapters  
Dreamin' up the cues  
And her fingers she'd be thumpin'  
While her thoughts were busy pumpin'  
If she only had reviews

She'd unravel many plotlines  
With phrases and with rues  
With the words she'd be writin'  
The story would be bitin'  
If she only had reviews

If she only had  
If she only had reviews

A rather ticked off looking Wilson finally stops singing, but the silence is soon filled with several well-placed cat calls.

**House:**_(whistles)_ Encore! Encore!

**Me:** Okay. Now that I have officially scared even myself, I think it's time to end the chapter. I hope you enjoyed it and I'd love to hear your thoughts.


	16. A Fork in the Road

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sincere thanks to NaiveEve for discovering how to upload documents in this time when the site doesn't seem to want to accept them, and to Houseketeer for passing the information along to me. It's only because of them that you have this chapter now. (I've been trying to get it to you for the last two days.)

* * *

House walked purposefully down the hallway to the patient's room, attempting to push Saint Wilson's latest psychoanalysis out of his mind. Unfortunately, this was easier said than done. The words kept replaying themselves, taunting him with their accuracy: 

_"You're always going to be a miserable bastard, and nothing you do is ever going to change that."_ Okay, that was true. He was a miserable bastard. But he was happy that way, and had been for a long time. He didn't need people in his life. They were more trouble than they were worth. They lied, they got in the way. They caused pain. Case closed.

So why was it that every time he thought of not being a part of his son's life, his chest constricted painfully? And that every time he thought of Cameron leaving for a second time, he wanted to break something?

As if in answer to his questions, another of Wilson's proclamations forced itself to the forefront. _"Not only are you the father of her son, if you opened your eyes long enough, you'd realize that she's in love with you, too."_ But no. House shook his head in denial. Jimmy really was smoking crack if he believed that statement. There was no way that Cameron had fallen in love with him. Just as there was no way that he was in love with her. It was about as possible as . . . well, he wasn't sure. But it was definitely impossible.

Definitely.

Even if the thought had a welcome ring to it. Even if he had enjoyed, however briefly, the idea of having a family. Even if Wilson _had_ been right. No, he'd let her leave and continue being a miserable bastard. Even if it killed him.

Exhaling sharply, House stopped outside the patient's room and attempted to push the thoughts from his mind. He didn't have time to think about his jumbled mess of a life right now. He had a different father figure to contend with. One that he knew wasn't telling the truth. If he was right, Daddy Dearest had done himself proud this time. In fact, he was considering having him co-write a book about parenting. They could title it "What Not to Do." Afterward, he could hit him repeatedly in the shins in celebration of their accomplishment. With this in mind, he pushed open the door.

"You know what's funny," he said as he stepped inside the room, where he was greeted by the sight of Mr. and Mrs. Annoying "Your son has TB."

"How is that funny?" Mrs. Annoying asked, her brow furrowed. She was sitting by her son's bedside, his tiny hand held tightly in her grasp. Her ex _(surprisingly unaccompanied by La Seniorita)_ was sitting as far from the bed as humanly possible.

"Oh, right," House replied. "I forgot the punch line. Here it is now: None of you has TB. Which means that either Tommy's –"

"Scott's," interjected Mr. Annoying from his perch on a 'comfy' hospital chair.

"Right, Scott's," House replied. "I didn't think you'd notice." _(The other man narrowed his eyes in semi-indignance, but House ignored him.)_ "Anyway, either Scott's going to school in a Third World Country – have you sent him to Kenya lately?" When Mrs. Annoying continued to look confused and Mr. Annoying suddenly found an interesting spot on the linoleum floor, House continued. "Or someone he knows has an active form of the disease. Seeing as none of you are currently hacking up blood, that leaves someone whose not in this room. Now who do you know whose been exposed to TB?"

Mrs. Annoying glanced at her ex in bewilderment, but when he didn't meet her gaze, she shook her head. "No one," she said.

"Yeah, I figured," House replied. "What I don't understand is why your ex-husband looks like he'd rather get swallowed up by the linoleum."

At this, Mr. Annoying finally raised his head and looked at House. "My girlfriend's mother," he finally said after a long moment of silence. "She came for a visit in March, just before she got sick."

At this, Mrs. Annoying became annoyingly indignant. "You exposed our son to –"

"I didn't know that she –"

"Yeah, yeah," House interrupted. "As much as I'd love to be present for the family blood bath, I thought I'd actually diagnose your kid. If it's okay with you?" When the disgruntled duo had no qualms, he looked directly at Mr. Annoying and continued. "Now, the problem is that TB typically stays dormant for years, and generally doesn't cause comas. So what caused the rabbit to come out of its hole?"

Again, the man was silent for several moments, even as House's intense blue gaze bored into his own. Finally, however, he took a deep breath and spoke. "I took him to Mexico to visit Consuela a little over a month ago."

"You did what?!" Mrs. Annoying cried, but House chose to ignore her. Instead, he continued on with his diagnosis.

"Where he was bitten by a mosquito and infected with malaria," he finished, forcing himself not to start whacking the idiot in the shins right now. "Thereby weakening his immune system and causing the TB to become active. It's why the meds haven't worked like they should have. He doesn't just have TB."

But Mrs. Annoying was too busy staring at her ex in shock. Having noticed this, the moron continued in a rush. "You were on your business trip," he said. "By the time you got back, I had convinced him that it had been an adventure that we should keep just between the two of us. A few days later, he was sick. I'm sorry. I . . . didn't know."

"You didn't know," she repeated, her voice deadly quiet. "You didn't know that some impromptu trip to another country might have gotten our son so sick that he almost died?"

"No," the man lied, his gaze hardening. Closing himself off. Preventing further communication. Something about the gaze was unnerving to House, whose stomach suddenly tightened into a hard knot.

"Well," he interjected, in an attempt to ignore the uneasiness which had just descended upon him. "The good news is that it's treatable. The bad news is that your ex-husband is a selfish jerk who'd rather let your son die than tell the truth."

"Hey!" Mr. Annoying exclaimed, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, shut up," House interrupted. "You're an idiot. You've already lost your wife, and you almost lost your kid because you're too stupid to realize what you're losing."

He stared hard at the other man, attempting to ignore how his words rang a little too true. "Here's a thought," he said instead. "Why don't you take your head out of your ass and try caring about someone other than yourself? It might be a nice change of pace."

Even as the words left his lips, House realized that he wasn't just speaking to the man in front of him. They hit too deep, struck too hard to be for the benefit of some idiot. And as they reverberated in his mind and a sudden pang struck his chest, he realized that Father Knows Best wasn't the only idiot in the room. "I'll get your kid started on his treatment," he said.

Before the family could say anything else, he was gone.

* * *

The warm breeze blew across the blades of green grass, sending the area into a tailspin of natural activity. Birds were chirping, crickets were singing, and leaves were rustling. Night was descending upon the world. House really wished it would all stop. 

Shuffling awkwardly on Cameron's front porch as he waited for her to come to the door, he attempted to figure out what he was doing here. One minute he'd been leaving the hospital (after ordering his minions to start the kid on the new meds), the next he'd been traveling the streets of Princeton and parking in front of Cameron's condominium. All the while, the words that he'd thrown at the kid's idiot father continued to richochet through his mind.

_Too stupid to realize what you're losing._

_Try caring about someone other than yourself._

He didn't know why they were having such an affect on him. Okay, that was a lie. He knew why they were affecting him. He just didn't know what he wanted to do about it. Even now that he was on Cameron's front porch, he wasn't sure what the hell he was doing here. In fact, a big part of him wanted to leave before she could open the door.

Unfortunately, he didn't get the option. Before he could make up his mind, the front door was being opened and Cameron was standing at the threshold. She arched a brow when she saw him. "House," she said, almost as if to confirm it to herself.

"Last time I checked," he nodded, attempting to alleviate the awkwardness with a joke. "Though I suppose I could have been misinformed."

"It's a possibility," she replied, smiling indulgently. Then, meeting his gaze with intense hazel eyes, she asked the question he wasn't quite sure he could answer. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know," he replied nonchalantly, wracking his mind for an answer and attempting to ignore the way his pulse rate increased under her stare. "I figured the kid might be having trouble sleeping, so I thought I'd come by and slip some of my vicodin into his juice."

"How thoughtful," she said dryly, the corner of her lips curling into a smirk. "Maybe we should tranquilize him while we're at it."

"That could work," he said, nodding.

"Uh-huh," she replied. Then: "Why are you really here, House?"

The weight of the look she gave him now caused him to shift uncomfortably and break eye contact. Why was he here? Again, he wracked his mind for some plausible excuse . . . and came up short. Luckily, it was at this moment that Jake discovered who was at the front door. Pushing past his mother's legs, he peered around the corner. "Dada!" he cried, a grin lighting up his face.

The grin was apparently infectious because House's own lips quirked upward into a smile as he marveled at his son's impeccable timing. "Hey, kid," he said, leaning his cane against the side of the house and reaching down to pluck the child into his arms.

"Hi, Dada," Jake replied, wrapping his own little arms around House's neck and placing his cheek on his shoulder.

The movement caused a pang to reverberate within House's chest, and he wondered briefly when it had become so natural to hold one tiny boy. Glancing at Cameron, he forced the smile to remain in place. "Can I come in?" he asked, more seriously than he would have intended. To cover this up, he followed with a joke. "Or are you going to make me pay for entrance?"

Evidently captivated by the sight of House holding her small son, Cameron blinked at the sudden question, but then recovered quickly. "I could use the money," she said slowly, and House shot her a Look. "Come on in, House," she said, stepping aside.

The affection in her tone caught him off guard, and as he grabbed his cane he again attempted to alleviate the uneasiness with a joke. "I thought you'd never ask," he started to reply, but the words died on his lips and his heart gave an unpleasant lurch as he stepped into her living room and noticed the stacks of boxes. He stopped in his tracks and tried not to let Cameron see the look of consternation which had fallen upon his features.

She noticed it anyway. "Dr. Gonzales has agreed to give me my old job back," she explained awkwardly as she followed his gaze to the boxes. "But he wants me to start next week."

"Next week," Jake repeated helpfully from his perch in his father's arms, and House's stomach knotted at the words. He hadn't actually thought she'd be leaving so soon.

It was as if Cameron could read his thoughts. "I told you we were moving back," she said softly, gazing at him searchingly. Piercingly.

This newest gaze was almost too much for him to handle, and he had to look away. If he continued to look at her, he might say something that he regretted and he didn't want to do that. "I'll put the kid to bed," he said instead, not wanting to continue the discussion. When Cameron's response was to sigh and nod, he began hobbling down the hallway with his son held tightly in his arms. _Next week. They're moving in a week._ Suddenly, he was struck with the intense desire to punch a wall.

A desire which only grew when he entered his son's room. "Story?" the child asked hopefully, shifting in his father's arms and gazing at House with bright blue eyes. Eyes that House knew he couldn't refuse.

What the hell? It would probably be the last time he would ever be able to read his kid a story. He swallowed hard at the thought, and had to force himself to move forward and take a seat in the rocking chair. Feeling as though her were on autopilot, he settled the child on his good knee and grabbed a copy of The Velveteen Rabbit _(That damn bunny_, he thought wryly. "Don't get used to this," he told him before he began to read. A warning which repeated itself in his own mind, making his breath catch in his throat. He ignored it.

It was only when Jake fell asleep in his arms that he looked up and realized that Cameron was standing in the doorway to the room, watching him intently. His chest constricted painfully once more.

* * *

After he had put Jake to bed, House and Cameron spent another awkard moment in the hallway, each staring anywhere but at each other. The silence was weighty, each needing to say a thousand things yet both doing a wonderful job of keeping them inside. Finally, House sighed heavily. "I should get going," he said, knowing it wasn't what he wanted to say but not knowing what it was that he wanted. 

"It's late," Cameron agreed, and he could swear that he heard a hint of disappointment in her voice.

But it must have been his imagination. When he looked at her, all he saw was a beautiful woman with an entirely guarded expression. Taking a deep breath, he nodded his assent and began to walk down the hallway. Soon, Cameron began following in his wake.

It felt like a death march, and for a moment he considered asking if he could get a drumroll. The joke died before it started, however. For once, the situation didn't seem very funny to him. Instead, he forced his feet to move forward, the fingers of his right hand curled tightly around his cane.

_Step. Thump. Step. Thump._

He reached the end of the hallway.

_Step. Thump. Step. Thump._

He was in the living room.

_Step. Thump. Step. Thump._

He was standing at the front door.

He reached his hand up to twist the doorknob . . .

And then time seemed to stop.

Before he realized what he was doing, his hand was falling forgotten to his side and words were emerging from his lips. "Don't go," they said. In the silence that followed, he marveled at how they were filled with a steely resolve which he had not known he harbored. Resolve which was intensified by the question which followed.

"What?" she asked, and he heard the surprise in her voice.

"Don't go," he repeated, turning from the door and looking fervently into her startled hazel eyes. "Stay here."

She stared at him for a long moment, and he could see that she was struggling to keep herself guarded. He hated himself for making her feel that way. "Why?" she finally asked, her brow furrowing.

_Why?_ Good question, and one that he didn't have an answer to. Or did he? Why was he suddenly standing here in her living room asking her to stay, when two hours before he was convinced that she should leave? That it was better for everyone involved if she just forgot that she'd ever met him? _Because the very thought of her leaving makes me want to break things_, he reminded himself as he continued to gaze intently into her eyes. "Because," he finally said. "Because it's better for Jake if we don't treat him like a ping pong ball. He just moved here. Give him a chance to adjust."

The answer caused Cameron to sigh, and he noticed her shoulders slump. "Is that all?" she asked. "I've already told you, House. He isn't adjusting. He's having trouble sleeping, I can't find a baby-sitter, he's acting up . . . It's better for him if I take him back to Connecticut."

"So we'll send him to Baby Boot Camp," House replied, knowing that now wasn't the time for jokes but not being able to stop himself. "I'll –" He paused. "Wilson will baby-sit. He loves kids."

He felt a trace of relief when his answer caused Cameron to smirk. "Something tells me that Wilson has better things to do," she said. "And you know you can visit him in Connecticut any time you want."

"That's not good enough," he interjected. His tone emerged harder than before, and by the hint of a challenge that entered her eyes he could tell that she'd noticed.

"What is, House?" she asked, and he could hear the challenge in her voice as well. "Why is it so important to you that we stay? I figured you'd be glad to get rid of us," she finished.

The words caused his stomach to knot painfully, but he did not immediately volunteer an answer. He honestly didn't know if he had one. Not one that he was sure he wanted to give, anyway. And he realized then that he had reached a fork in the road. He could either say the right thing and keep her here . . . or he could shut down and let her leave.

Before he had a chance to decide which road to take, he began rattling off a laundry list of reasons. "Because Connecticut is a swamp pit," he said. "Because I don't want my son to get bitten by a mosquito and contract malaria. Because you've already moved once in the last month. Because you've got a job and friends here."

"House," she beseeched, and he knew from the intense look she was giving him that his pitiful excuses weren't going to be enough. He had reached the fork.

"Because I want you to stay," he said, his chest constricting at the difficulty of the statement.

But if there had ever been one word to describe Cameron, it was persistent. She continued to push. "Why?" she prodded.

Why? There was that word again. What the hell did she want from him? For a few seconds, he considered asking her just that. But then the look in her eyes pierced through his defenses and the next thing he knew, words were emerging before he could stop them. "Because I'm in love with you," he snapped. "Is that what you want me to say?

The effect was immediate. Cameron's eyes opened wide and her gaze grew more intense as she took in everything House had just said. "Only if you mean it," she finally said, her voice straining with the feelings she was attempting to keep at bay.

He sighed heavily and glanced at the ceiling. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it," he said levelly, before bringing his gaze back down to meet her own.

She swallowed visibly as the emotions in her eyes began to swelter, then hide, then swelter again. "Why are you just telling me this now?" she asked softly.

Feeling increasingly uncomfortable at the admission of emotions _(and, although he wouldn't admit it, at the fact that she hadn't jumped to return them)_, he shifted restlessly. "Because I'm an idiot," he admitted. Then, as usual, a joke fled forth to conquer his discomfort. "And I enjoy living on the edge."

"You are an idiot," she agreed, and he was relieved to hear her chuckle.

"Yeah, well," he said, grateful for the break in tension. "It keeps life interesting." His lips formed a small smile as he continued to meet her eyes. "So, are you going to stay?"

The question hung in the air between them for several moments as she appeared to contemplate the answer. "I don't know," she said. "I have to think about Jake –"

"We'll figure something out," House assured. "I'll talk to Medusa if I have to."

"Miss Natalie," Cameron reminded him pointedly.

"The scary woman at the hospital," House retorted. "Whose going to cost us tons in therapy bills when our kid gets older."

Cameron scoffed and rolled her eyes, but a smirk played at the corner of her lips. "I'll start saving," she said, and House joined her in smirking.

And then silence fell.

He could feel his skin prickle with the look she was giving him now, and he found himself hungrily locking eyes with her. The air became tinged with tension as the couple gazed at each other in increasing intensity and the emotions which they had hidden for so long finally began to swelter, then flare. His pulse rate increased, his stomach knotted, and before he realized what was happening, Cameron had taken several steps in his direction and started to speak. "I suppose we can give it a shot," she conceded, stopping when she was directly in front of him. "After all," she paused and stood on tiptoes so that their faces were level. "I'm kind of in love with you, too."

And then she brought her lips crashing against his own.


	17. Epilogue

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. None of it. Not that damn bunny, or the ornery diagnostician . . . Well, okay. Jake's mine. Everything else belongs to others. Don't sue, 'kay?

A/N: Well, I fully expected that last chapter to be the last. But then all my wonderful readers clamored for more, and I found that I just had to comply. I'm sorry that it took me so long to get this out, but I hope you enjoy the finished result. And now, without further ado . . .

* * *

The thing about Cat Scratch Fever is that it tends to pop up on you when you least expect it. A rare disease in its own right, you generally don't know that you've been infected until you begin to show symptoms. Sometimes the symptoms are minor, if they appear at all; other times, the disease has such a monumental effect that the immune system changes drastically. When this occurs, the individual is left with a choice. Either fight the disease with antibiotics, or do nothing and allow it to run its course. The problem is, the infection may not respond to the individual's defense of antibiotics. Occasionally, it runs its course no matter how stubbornly the individual attempts to fight.

It is these times that he must succumb and take what is given to him.

* * *

Six months after he'd finally gotten the Wicked Witch of Princeton Plainsboro off his back _(Boy, had it been fun rubbing that successful diagnosis in her face)_, Gregory House found his life had drastically changed. Case in point, the woman who had just entered the kitchen and was staring at his backside in mild shock.

"You're making breakfast?" she asked, her tone grateful yet surprised. As always, the sound caused his pulse rate to increase just a bit. As always, he chose to ignore it.

"I was hungry," he said simply, flipping an already blackened and rather crisp pancake in the griddle. "The pancake mix was calling to me. Greg, Greg, come mix me. Who am I to ignore breakfast food?"

"Who indeed?" Cameron replied, sneaking up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. A shiver ran down House's spine as she placed a soft kiss on the back of his neck.

"Wouldn't want to upset the Breakfast Gods," he said, attempting to hold onto his composure yet leaning backward into her arms. "They might smite our food supply, and then where would we be?"

"Wouldn't want that," Cameron agreed, placing yet another kiss against the base of his spine.

This second kiss proved to be too much to handle. Turning the burner off, House turned around and fixed her with earnest eyes. "Morning," he said gruffly, locking gazes with the woman standing before him. His stomach knotted at the smile she gave him, and he marveled not for the first time how much his life had changed since she had returned. Not just finding out he was a father, or opening his heart when he'd vowed never to do so again. But asking them to move in, beginning to act like a family . . . Everything had changed, and he had never been happier.

With this in mind, he leaned down and brushed his lips against her cushiony mouth, causing her to sigh and wrap her arms around his neck. Yup, this was definitely the way to wake up. Maneuvering his own arms around Cameron's waist in order to pull her closer, he slipped his tongue inside his fiance's mouth and tasted her early morning flavor. Musty, with a slight trace of salt.

There was no telling how long the kiss might have lasted had a certain child not chosen that moment to enter the room. Ever since he had been moved into a Big Boy Bed, he had foregone all normalcy of schedule and begun to walk in on his parents during the most opportune moments. House was beginning to wonder if it was sign that he was his son. Now the two-year old stopped inside the kitchen and grinned. "Kissy!" he cried, his chubby cheeks dimpling at the corners.

House groaned as Cameron broke the kiss with a smirk and turned toward their son. "Morning, honey," she said, still leaning against House's chest. "Are you hungry?"

"Hungry," Jake agreed, stepping over to a nearby chair and climbing up into it. He shot his parents an impish look, and House couldn't help but smirk back. Yup, the kid was definitely his. No paternity disputes there.

And as he served the slightly charred pancakes and sat down with his family to eat breakfast, he reflected once again on how much he liked the idea.

* * *

"Miss Natalie," House greeted her in a mock cheerful tone. "You're looking rather chipper today. Trying some of that new embalming fluid?"

"Balming?" Jake asked, craning around in his stroller and blinking at his father through innocent eyes.

"Just as charming as ever, Doctor House," Miss Natalie replied tightly, glaring at the diagnostician before turning to the little boy. "Are you ready for school, Jake?" she asked, and House was mollified to hear the gentle edge to her tone. It had taken a good deal of begging to get his son back into nursery school – something that House wouldn't soon forget, leading to many more witty barbs directed toward the teacher – and he was glad that she had at least calmed down toward the kid.

"Ready," Jake chirped, and Medusa – Miss Natalie – unbuckled him from his stroller and lifted him to the ground.

"I'll see you at five?" Miss Natalie asked, her dislike for House still clear upon her face.

"No, actually," House replied. "You'll see Doctor Cameron. Wouldn't want you to overdose on the pleasure of being near me or anything. You're already living on borrowed time."

"And what a pleasure it is," Medusa said dryly, shooting him a tight-lipped smile. She glanced at Jake, who was toddling over to the bookshelf, before quickly heading back into the heart of the nursery and away from House.

When she was gone, House took one last look at his son, who was curled up with his favorite book. "Bye, kid," he called, raising his hand in a gesture of farewell.

"Bye, Dada!" Jake called back, flexing his little fingers and grinning happily. That smile still had the affect of warming the diagnostician's heart.

* * *

Coming out into the hall, House was graced with the presence of Wilson, leaning against the wall and smiling smugly. "What?" he asked, glaring at the other man. The shit faced grin his friend was wearing told him that he wasn't going to like the answer.

Sure enough: "You're so neutered," the oncologist stated, his grin becoming more pronounced.

"Jealous, Jimmy?" House replied, narrowing his eyes. "Because I'd be happy to cut it –"

"Never mind," Wilson said, making a face and interrupting. Then he grinned again. "Any more story hours in the future?"

"Yeah, actually," House returned, striding toward a particular destination and leaving the other man to fall into step beside him. "I just purchased the cutest little jester hat for you, too. Meet me in my office at four."

"Right," Wilson said, keeping up with House's hobbled jaunt. "That should give you plenty of time to change into the clown suit."

Ignoring the comment, House segued into the next order of business. "What are you doing here, anyway? Oncology department too boring, so you decided to come annoy me?"

"Well, that," Wilson replied, "and I have a patient that I wanted you –" He paused then, apparently realizing that they had passed the elevators, which would lead them up to the diagnostic's department. "Where are you going, anyway?"

"I figured if I kept walking, you might get the point and go away," House said, finally stopping in front of a doorway and fixing his friend with a smug look of his own.

"Uh-huh," Wilson returned, glancing at the sign above the doorway with arched brow. "And this has nothing to do with the fact that you've just stopped in front of Rehab."

House shrugged. "Well, you know," he said, his expression stoic, "Kid to keep up with and everything. Figured being able to walk might help with that."

The expression that broke out on Wilson's face now made House regret his confession immediately. "Good for you," the other man said, beaming. "It's about time."

"Yeah, yeah," House waved him off, turning around and opening the door. "If you don't mind, I have an appointment to keep." And with that, he headed inside the Rehab office, leaving Wilson behind with that annoying smile on his face.

Yeah, things had definitely changed, he reflected after he'd given Nurse Nosy his name and appointment time. If someone had told him a year ago that he'd be waking up early to make breakfast for Cameron and their son, or that he'd be sitting here in this office now, he would have seriously suspected them of taking off with his vicodin and started whacking them around the shins with his cane. Now, however . . . He found himself inadvertently smiling as he thought about The Velveteen Rabbit and how it held true to his own life. Like he'd suddenly become real, as damn sappy as that sounded. And as he'd read time and again in Jake's favorite book, 'When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.' And he found that he didn't mind being made 'real' in the least.

Let the sap fest begin.

**FIN**


End file.
